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THE GREAT PYRAMID OF GIZA
When the architects began
Laying their audacious plan
For the greatest pyramid of all,
It then seemed a natural thing
For them to inter their king
Deep beneath that monument so tall.
Pharaoh Khufu called a halt,
Said those tons upon his vault
Gave him chilis and spoilt his sleep as well
So the engineers discreet
Built a loftier retreat
For the royal mummy's citadel.
Khufu wanted higher yet;
They his wishes quickly met
In that greatest tomb upon the globe.
Truth to tell, the secret hid
Under Khufu's pyramid
Is that Khufu was a claustrophope!
L. Sprague de Camp
THE MODERN MAGAZINE OF WEIRD TALES
(formerly COVEN 13)
Jan. -Feb., 1971
THE MOMENTARY GHOST by Carleton Grindle
TOWER OF BLOOD by David A. English
THE DARK DOOR by Leo P. Kelley
GERALD W. PAGE
PORTRAIT OF THINGS TO COME by Leon Zeldis . . .
THE IDEAS by Edith Ogutsch and Ross Rocklynne
MISTRESS OF DEATH by Robert E. Howard
WIND MAGIC by Edmund Shirlan
THE HATE by Terri E. Pinckard
THE RAT AND THE SNAKE by A. E. van Vogt
DEPARTMENT OF POINTED TALES
1. BRUCE by Saliitha Grey
2. EMBARKATION OF EVIL by W. S. Cobun Jr. ...
WERE CREATURE by Kenneth Pembrooke
THE GREAT PYRAMID OF GIZA by L. Sprague de Camp
WELCOME AS LOVER COME, THUNDER
by Anthony Sander . .
WITCH WAYS by Robert E. Jennings
ARTHUR H. LANDIS
FOUR LETTERS TO CLARK ASHTON SMITH
by H. P. Lovecraft . .
GHOST TOUR by Andre Norton
JADE PAGODA by E. Hoffmann Price
WM. L CRAWFORD
SUPERDRAGON by Saliitha Grey inside back
Cover: Burge (for The Momentary Ghost)
Interior illustrations by D. Bruce Berry, Burge, Stephen Fabian,
Steve Fritz, Robert E. Jennings, Jeff Jones, Tim Kirk.
Hard lettering by Fritz, Burge and Jennings.
WITCHCRAFT AND SORCERY Is published M-monthly by Fantasy Publishing Company, Inc., 1855 W. Main fit,
Alhambra, California 91801. Editorial address: P.O. Box 13S1, Atlanta, Georgia SOSM. All stories are fictional.
Any resemblance to actual persons or events b entirely coincidental. We assume no responsibility for unsolicited
manuscripts or art work. All submissions should be sent to the Atlanta address and be accompaned by sufficient
postage to insure their return. Copyright 19T0 by Fantasy Publishing Co., Inc. All rights reserved. Subscription
rate; one year (8 issues) (3.00 In U.S.A. and most other countries. 80 cents per copy.
This periodical Is sold only by authorised dealers and It may not be sold or distributed with any part of lti cover
removed, nor In a mutilated condition.
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Welcome as lover come, thunder <
That wear white wings and bend wheat under I
And thrill the river through this sightless noon j
Of Hecate's bright-scaled team that drives on June. \
Illustration by Stephen Fabian
When we acquired COVEN 13 from its original owners,
we felt this editorial would be a rather easy thing to write.
'We' are Wm. L, Crawford, who now serves as the pub-
lisher j Jerry Burge, who is the art director, and Gerald
W. Page who edits the magazine and has the job of writing
an editorial to explain to you all that's happened to
COVEN 13 was — and is — a magazine of fantasy stories
emphasizing supernatural horror and the macabre. Its
stories were in the tradition of Poe, Bierce, Hoffmann,
Machen, Blackwood, Lovecraft, Clark Ashton Smith, Robert
E. Howard and A. Merrltt. The audience for this sort
of fiction Is obviously large and the idea is to reach It.
The founders of the magazine were on the borderline of
success but could not carry It over In four Issues and were
unwilling to produce the number of issues necessary to
build the circulation to a profitable level.
So Fantasy Publishing Co. Inc. took over. The magazine
was analysed closely but few changes were decided on.
COVEN 13's policy was supposed to be oriented to the
weird tale, but too often, we decided, It ran light tongue
in cheek fantasy. We felt it would be sufficient to strength-
en the fiction. Stronger stories, that's all.
So that was our major fifth-Issue change. As for other
changes we were planning, we could make them later,
after we were acclimated.
How little we knew.
Our plans to change title were pretty definite. "Coven"
is a nice word, but its meaning is obscure. It doesn't
really suggest to the general newsstand browser what
sort of fiction we carry. Most abridged dictionaries dont
even list the word. Coven doesn't inform dozens of poten-
tial readers what the magazine is about. We planned to
change title about the seventh or eighth issue.
We also wanted to do something about our format. The
science fiction and fantasy magazines started going digest
size at the end of World War II when there were hundreds
of fiction magazines: science fiction, fantasy, western,
love, adventure .... The move assured display space on
a crowded newsstand and was wise in its day. But now
there are about 20 fiction magazines In larger formats.
The larger magazines are now crowding the digests off
the racks, or covering them up ho they can't be seen by
potential buyers. Worse, digests look old fashioned. The
result is floundering sales that cause editors to write self
pitying editorials about how evil readers are not to buy
their magazines. Writers, aware of the conditions, are
beginning to write off the remaining fiction magazines as
poor risks and look elsewhere for work. Steps have to be
And lots of attempts to find the answer are being tried.
Hiking the price, a favorite trick of desperate publishers,
for example. Paperback anthologies of new stories Is
another attempt. Flooding the market with cheaply pro-
duced reprint magazines is yet another approach, but it
isn't too popular with the writers who, as often as not,
receive no payment for the reprinted stories. The trouble
with these solutions Is that none of them solve the real
problem, that of being seen on the newsstand.
A magazine on a newstand has to be seen or it won't
sell. We've felt for some time that the larger format was
more practical as well as more modern.
But we felt the distributor would be reluctant to go along
with It. The, distributor is a businessman and must be
cautious. Therefore. . . .
Imagine our surprise when our distributor turned out
to be a thinking man as well as a businessman. It was he
who asked us to go ahead with our projected size and
title change now.
We had just completed preparation for the fifth Issue
of COVEN 13 In the old format. It meant an added delay,
but we agreed with his thinking and we went along with it.
You are holding in your hands the fifth issue of COVE**
18 under new proprietors, in a new format, with a new
Or, if you prefer, you're holding the first issue of a
great new magazine called Witchcraft & SORCERY.
Either way we think you're holding a pretty good mag-
azine. We think our writers have written some superb
stories. We believe our artstaff is the best In the field.
The new format gives us greater potential in every di-
rection. We're less restricted, more up-to-date. In the
near future we think you'll be seeing the other magazines
in the science fiction and fantasy field copying us.
Meanwhile, let ub know your feeling about the magazine.
On pages 63 and 64 you'll find a reader's poll ballot. We'd
appreciate your votes on stories and features and your
comments on the magazine. Of course you don't nave
to tear out the coupon if you don't want to. A plain piece
of paper with your votes will be sufficient. Better yet,
send us a letter. The more we know about your likes, the
better we can design the magazine to suit you.
Present plans call for Witchcraft St SORCERY to
publish on a bi-monthly schedule for a while yet. Sub-
scribers to COVEN IS will continue to receive the number
of copies due them according to their subscription. (Sub-
scriptions are always for number of copies, never for length
So here It Is, the modern magazine of weird tales. The
best of established writers such as Leo Kelley, H. P. Love-
craft, E. Hoffmann Price, Robert E. Howard, Andre
Norton and others, as well as great stories by newcomers
such as David English, Glen Cook, Gary Brander, Carleton
Grindle and many moje. We think you'll find it unlike any
other magazine being published today— and we hope you
—GERALD W PAGE
by Leo P. Kelley
ILLUSTRATED BY BURGE
WHEN the waiter brought the main course and act it down In front of
us, Professor Windrow began rubbing his hands together In eager antici-
pation over his broiled brook trout. Just then, Lowena entered the
I put down the glass of wine I'd been lifting to my lips and frowned.
The Professor glanced at me with a pussled expression on his thin face.
Heads were turning toward Lowena. Whispers like small winds
wafted her name about the room from table to table. Eyes, mine in-
cluded, stared at her in a mixture of awe and uneasiness.
"What is it, Carl?" Professor Windrow asked me. "Are you M easily
unnerved by the sight of a ravishing woman?"
I shook my head and managed a weak smile. "She Is lovely, isn't
she? But no, it isn't that."
"Her lurid past then?"
I drained my glass, "Yes. Let's say that's it." I watched her more
across the dining room, a young man at her aide, the waiter leading
them both to a secluded corner and a choice table on which a sign that
said ' ' Reserved" rested beside a single red rose in a crystal vase.
Lowena Derry, I thought. No, more properly, Lowena Young Owl.
Derry had been her recently deceased husband's name.
But Lowena's Indian name had been. Young Owl.
I watched her move through the room as an animal
moves through a part of the forest that it senses is hostile
to its kind. Quickly. Nervously. Her white dress was
bound by a slim girdle of scarlet that swept up in an
inverted V to end between her breasts, ripe buds on the
young sapling of her body. She wore white slippers and
carried a simple white evening bag. Her hair was a jet
waterfall that fell to touch the icy whiteness of her
shoulders. Her equally black eyes beneath their heavy
lashes were ebony fires blazing in the pale cauldron of
her face, which was unmarred by any makeup.
Professor Windrow, I noticed, as I looked away to
avoid being seen by Lowena, had forgotten his trout. He
was staring at Lowena with the longing that age some-
times betrays for days gone and loves lost.
"She's coming over here," he breathed, already rising
in his invariably polite fashion.
"Good evening," he said as Lowena arrived to stand
beside our table.
I looked up. "Hello, Lowena," I said.
She offered me a slim hand on which no rings glittered.
"Carl." She paused and the rather handsome young man
beside her cleared his throat. "It's been months. You really
must call me soon. You shouldn't forget old friends so
"I've been busy. How have you been, Lowena?"
A shadow seemed to dim the sun of her smile momenta-
rily. "Tomorrow?" she asked in that gentle shy way of
hers that endeared her to nearly everyone — even to women
who tried to hate her for being so very beautiful. "Pro-
mise me that you'll phone tomorrow."
"I'm leaving town tomorrow," I told her.
"Well, perhaps another time then. It was good seeing
you again, Car!." She turned to the young man whom she
had not bothered to introduce to us and they made their
way to where a waiter was holding a chair in readiness
"Liar," Professor Windrow said to me. "Why did you
tell her that? You're not leaving town tomorrow."
"Why? I don't know. No that's not true. I do know.
I lied because I'm afraid of Lowena."
Professor Windrow closed his mouth on the piece of
trout he had expertly speared with his fork and almost
choked. After he had swallowed with some difficulty, he
said, "You're afraid of Lowena Derry?"
"I'm afraid of Lowena Young Owl," I told the man who
had been my mentor, confidant and father substitute
throughout my years in college after my own father had
died of a unexpected angina attack.
"Why?" he asked, in his characteristically direct fashion.
I eouldn't refuse to tell him, not any longer. Actually,
I badly wanted to tell someone — someone who might not
believe me but who would, at least, listen sympathetically
and not be likely to recommend a sanitarium. "I was
there the night Charles Derry— died," I said,
The rather austere Professor of Marketing Management
disappeared and Ross Windrow, sympathetic friend, ap-
peared in his place with curiosity and concern showing
on his face as he gazed across the table at me. "You were
there? You actually saw what really happened?"
I nodded. The papers had called Chuck's death "mur-
der by person or persons unknown." It had caused a
sensation when It happend. Lowena had been cleared com-
pletly. There was absolutely no evidence to prove that
8 WITCHCRAFT 4 SORCERY
she had been in any way involved with her husband's
death. But I knew better.
"Why didn't you tell the police what you saw at the
time?" the Professor asked.
I glanced across to where Lowena was sitting with her
new young man. "I've already explained that. Because
I was afraid. Besides, I'm certain that no one would have
believed me. I've never spoken to anyone of what happened
that night and I suspect I never will again. But if I can
count on your treating what I have to say in confidence — "
The professor looked chagrined.
"I'm sorry," I said.
"I'm waiting," he said. "It will do you good to get it
oft' your chest — whatever it is."
After he had summoned our waiter and ordered espresso,
I began to tell him; starting at what was, for me and
Charles Derry and Lowena Young Owl, the beginning of
what would, within a year, prove to be Charles Derry's
As I talked, I began to feel a sense of relief. It was
a feeling akin to the catharsis so familiar to the ancient
Greek dramatists, which was fitting since my tale — my
experience — held within it the twin seeds of pity and
tenor that were the bases of all truly tragic drama.
Chuck Derry and I, I explained to Professor Windrow,
had spent the previous summer bumming around the
country in my old Buick. Our mission: to tape the folk
songs and folk music of America's heartland. Chuck was
a graduate student in music and I was a senior in the
School of Business Administration, When Chuck sug-
gested the jaunt, I jumped at the chance, knowing full
well that would be my last free summer before I'd find
myself stuck feet first into some monolithic corporation
from which I'd probably never be able to extricate myself.
By the time we reached New Orleans, I had become
aware that Chuck had a problem. Ills problem was, in a
word, alcohol. I hadn't seen much of Chuck during the
school year — just a party here, a concert there — so I
hadn't been aware of wliat was beginning to happen to him.
More times during our summer together than I care to
count, he had left me and gone oft' into the night from
which he would emerge the next day red-eyed and weary as
if he'd been battling unseen demons. Which, In a way,
was true, I guess.
He used to tell me about hearing music in his head.
Wild music, he called it. Orgiastic music. He wanted to
drown it out because, he told me, it was ruining his capac-
ity to concentrate on his competing which had always
produced incredibly sensitive and vaguely sensuous music.
And then he'd laugh and tell me I really shouldn't pay
any attention to him because surely I knew that all artists
were more than a little bit mad. It was a prerequisite,
he insisted, for any artist of more than average caliber.
Chuck may not have been mad but he certainly was an
oddly angry man that summer. I remembered one night
in a bar in the French Quarter when he picked a fight
with two merchant seamen for no reason that I could
discover. 1 tried to get him out of the place before it was
two late, only to discover that it was already too late.
Chairs flew and bottles broke and, when it was over, Chuck
and I fled, leaving behind two badly injured men who
had been beaten senseless hy my friend, whom I had begun
to think of as — well, driven.
We headed west and I began to hint that our journey
should be terminated. I was, frankly, becoming decidedly
uneasy as Chuck continced his disappearing act night after
might as well sb his arguments with waitresses In roadside
diners and with gas station attendants — anyone unlucky
enough to be present when the fury was loose within him.
In August, we arrived at an Indian reservation, a pa-
thetic vista of parched land and crumbling shacks, which
Chuck jokingly referred to as modern America's version
of Dante's Inferno. He wanted to stop to see if the In-
dians could provide him with any material worth recording.
"All I have to do Is spread a little wampum around,"
he joked, "and the singers will start gargling with Alka
Seltzer and the musicians will eagerly oil their drum hides,"
So we scouted around the reservation, but we found
only blank-eyed children, old people too tired to answer
Chuck's questions and one or two dispirited young men
who looked as if they had never heard of war paint.
It was a hopeless task. A few of the people did sing us
a few bawdy songs that they thought might have Indian
origins but which were clearly the products of more
modern bars and bordellos. It was sad — a bitter experi-
ence. But Chuck was unwilling to give up.
And then we saw Lowena.
She was standing beside a water pump in the yard of
a house that had a sagging roof on which a few scrawny
chickens perched and clucked disconsolately. She wore a
faded print dress and battered shoes. But her face was
the face of a sun that no cloud could ever really dim.
Even then, even in those dreary surroundings and those
awful clothes, she looked regal and somehow above it all.
Chuck nudged me and muttered something obscene and,
before I could answer, began moving toward her. I meekly
followed him as I had been doing all those weeks.
"Good morning," I heard him say to Lowena, "My
name Is Chuck Derry and I'm a composer. You know — a
musician. I've been trying to find out if your people have
any music that I could record. It's for a research project
I'm working on at college."
Lowena turned her lively black eyes on him and for a
moment I saw something flicker across her face. I'd seen
the same expression in other women's eyes because Chuck
was a handsome guy. He was all well-placed beef on a
graceful but sturdy frame. His hair was thick and long
but not that Jopg and he could look absolutely cherubic
if he chose. At that moment, he so chose. Lowena was
"The Indians have forgotten the old ways," she said in
a voice that must have been a delight to a musician of
Chuck's Benslbilities. "Their old gods are dead and their
altars fallen to dust."
Chuck glanced at me and raised his eyebrows meaning-
fully. "You're not one— an Indian, I mean?" he inquired
in his most polite manner.
"I am an Indian. My name is Lowena Young Owl."
"Listen," Chuck said, "are you sure there isn't anyone
around here who remembers the old war chants or the
burial songs or "
"Have they invited you to the Church?" Lowena asked.
"The Church? What Church?"
"They have a vulgar name for it," she replied cryptic-
ally. "In their new Church, they use peyote to open the
door to — to otherness."
Chuck was obviously fascinated as, much by Lowena's
manner of speaking as by her very special kind of dark
beauty. I Interrupted long enough to Introduce myself
but Lowena wasn't really interested in me. It was Chuck
who had captured her attention as I'd seen him do so many
times before with so many other women. He was silently
sending out his call of the wild and Lowena's antenna had
picked it up. That much was perfectly clear to me.
He asked her some more questions and at last she di-
rected us to an old man we found sitting Inside the house
behind us. At first, I assumed it was her grandfather
hut I learned later that he was no relation of Lowena's.
He was old and bent, his face a bronze filigree of deep
wrinkles. His thin white hair was bound at the nape of his
neck by a leather band and he wore the shirt and leggings
that I'd seen in a hundred cowhoy pictures.
"You come from the Bureau?" were his first suspicious
words to us as we entered the house.
Lowena spoke to him in a language neither Chuck nor
I could understand and his eyes narrowed.
"You want to go through The Door?" he inquired.
Chuck looked at me and I started to shake my head when
he said, "Yes. Yes, we do." He explained about his interest
in possibly recording the ceremony and there was Nimw
discussion between him and the old man about whether or
not that would be considered quite proper. It promptly
became proper when Chuck handed the old man twenty
We spent the night in the man's shack since the next
ceremony, he had told us, would not take place until the
following evening. I slept little. Chuck slept less. I heard
him get up and go outside and a little later I heard the
rustle of some soft garment and I knew that Lowena had
passed through the room and gone out after him. I heard
their voices whispering for a time and then I heard nothing.
The next night, the old man led us to the neighboring
house where the ceremony was to be held.
"Where's Lowena?" I whispered to Chuck.
He shook his head. "She's tabu or something In the
Church. The old man says she is bad medicine. He told
me that the spirits of the Church are not her spirits. He
talks a lot of silly gibberish. These people are still pretty
THE DARK DOOR
"I heard you researching one of those primitives last
"Lowena's shy— at first," Chuck said, undismayed by
my sly remark. "But beautiful. Oh, wow, is she ever I
And she wants to leave the reservation," he concluded
"Now wait a minute!" I protested, knowing Chuck.
"We have room in the car. It might be fun. We can
unload her later in Albuquerque or somewhere."
"No," I argued. "Why, she doesn't look a day over
seventeen. That kind of trouble, I don't need."
We arrived then at the door of the house and Chuck
went inside at once without further comment. I sighed
and followed him. The old man showed us where to sit
and we took our places among the silent group of people
sitting about on the floor. Some time later, they passed
the peyote buttons. Chuck chewed his but I dropped mine
in my pocket. A little later, I went outside as the halluin-
ations began to blossom in the minds of the worshippers,
Chuck among them, and moans and mutterings filtered
out into the night after me.
I stood smoking outside the house for ten minutes or
so before becoming aware that someone was standing
nearby. I turned and confronted Lowena, a shadow within
the darker shadows. I hadn't heard her approach nor had
I seen any sign of her arrival.
"Hi," I said.
"Chuck likes me," she said. "You don't."
"That's not true. I mean sure he likes you. Chuck likes
lots of pretty girls. I've got nothing against you. Oh,
hell, I mean "
She looked up at the full moon which flooded her iovely
face with light. "I must leave the reservation," she said.
She looked at me with a curious expression on her face.
•They have not told you what I am called?"
"The dark door."
"I'm afraid I don't understand."
"In there," she said, tossing her head to indicate the
Cmrch behind us. "In there, they seek to let the old ones
Uirough the door so that they might listen to their counsel.
Tkey hope that one day the old ones in their wisdom will
letd them into a new land and a better life. But they are
wrong. The old ones no longer listen to us because we
ha*e betrayed them. They have turned their faces from
us and they will no longer hear our laments. I was their
pritstess once. But the people refused to listen to the
ones who came when I called. They said that the ones
who came were not the old ones but the evil ones It does
not matter to me now. It is, after all, only a matter of
chen.istry, isn't it? Chemistry Is their new religion now
but b laboratory Is its proper shrine. Still — what happens,
"True," I said, understanding next to nothing of what
"Oh, Carl, I have to leave here !"
I saw that she was crying. She was not making a sound,
but she was crying nevertheless. Her tears made moon-
white rivers on her cheeks. I could think of nothing to
say. The sight of a woman's tears is something I have
never been able to bear. It was then, I think, that the
bargain among the three of us was sealed although I did
not know it at the time.
"They will have to kill me one day because they want to
8 WITCHCRAFT & SORCERY
lock forever my dark door. They fear it. And when peo-
ple fear something, they destroy it."
"But your family can—"
She shook her head. "I have no family. My mother was
tuken from the reservation years ago when I was just a
child. She was a seeress and she taught me much about
making strong medicine. But the BIAi — "
"The Bureau of Indian Affairs. They said she was sick —
schizophrenic. She died in a strait jacket on the way to
the hospitaL No one knew why. I think she simply chose
to die and did. My father went away after that. He just
walked off the reservation one day and never came back.
I have no one. I need someone,"
The someone she needed, it developed, was Chuck Derry.
The next day, the three of us left the reservation. Lowena
sat in the front seat of the car next to Chuck. Before we
left, lie told me he thought he was in love with her. He
wanted to know If I had ever seen a more beautiful girl.
I told him 1 had not.
Once we arrived back at college, Chuck and I went our
separate ways. I didn't see him again until two months
later when he phoned to invite me to the impromptu party
he and Lowena were giving following their civil marriage
"You married her?" I exclaimed over the phone, sur-
prised and yet not totally.
'•You make ft sound like a crime," he declared, laughing.
"Come on over and help us celebrate."
I went to the apartment which Chuck had rented off-
campus and tried to share in the general gaiety but found
it impossible to do so. I. felt like I had lost Lowena al-
though my common sense told me I had never possessed
her. I admitted to myself at last that I had wanted her
but had not had the courage or the nerve to do anything
about the wanting. I cursed myself for a meek fool who
would never inherit either Lowena or the earth. But
there was another reason for my distress — Chuck. To be
precise, it was Chuck's behavior toward Lowena. He
treated her as a prize he might have won at some carnival,
I soon noticed. He displayed her. She was his ornament.
His Golden Fleece, his Grail.
As the evening wore on and became somewhat rowdy, I
sensed Lowena's anguish. She seemed to wilt, to shrink
wiLhin herself. When Chuck seized her arm to drag her
across the room to meet some late arrival, I could feel
her embarressment. I thought of hunters who displayed
their trophies on their walls for admiring eyes — stuffed
proofs of their virility. Chuck was using Lowena In that
way. And I knew that she knew it. There remained little
trace of the tenderness he had shown toward her during our
long trip back across the country the summer before. Now
he treated Lowena as a mere instrument on which he would
compose a score to suit only himself.
I decided to leave early but, before I had reached the
door, Lowena saw me slipping into my coat and came
over to me.
<; Carl," she said, "ft was good of you to come."
"I hope you'll both be very happy, Lowena," I said,
meaning it sincerely,
"Happy," Her repetition of the word was flat and tone-
less. "Chuck seems happy, doesn't he?"
I looked across the room to where Chuck reeled, one
arm slung over the shoulder of an obliging blonde In a
"Will you come to see us often?" Lowena asked and I
heard, not a simple question, but a faintly desperate plea,
"Of course," I replied and leaned over to kiss her cheek.
But I didn't go to see them again. Call it jealousy or
whatever you will. I didn't go because I couldn't, I saw
Lowena on campus occasionally waiting for Chuck or just
strolling in the leafy quiet which she said soothed her. I
wondered why she needed soothing.
It was at a New Year's Eve party given by mutual
friends that I began to realize how badly wrong things
were going for Lowena. As I came up to her, she called
my name and threw her arms around me. Her clasp was
tight and, I thought, tense. When she looked up at me,
I couldn't disguise my sense of shock.
She gave me a wry smile and touched her bruised left
eye. "I bumped into an open kitchen cabinet the other
night. Clumsy of me.
I pretended to accept her explanation but before the
night ended, I knew the name of the "cabinet" she had
bumped into. Chuck Derry, I knew because of what
happened as the clock struck midnight. A man seized
Lowena and gave her a friendly kiss. As he released her,
Chuck suddenly appeared beside them.
"Stutl" he shouted, and the word stopped the world
for a moment as it hung heavy in the suddenly still air
of the room. He seized her and spun her around and
raised his hand and brought it down in a swift motion
against her face. The sound of his slap revebcrated In
For a moment, Lowena stood frozen in front of him
while the man who had kissed her tried to explain to
Chuck who refused to listen to him. I was about to look
away In shame when I saw the fury flash in Lowena's
eyes. It was gone in nn instant. She ran into the bedroom
and slammed the door behind her. Slowly, like an aging
elephant, the party tried to struggle back to life and failed
The next time I saw Lowena was at her own apartment.
She called me one day in April and invited me to dinner.
I tried to make excuses but she would not listen to them.
I at last consented to come.
When I arrived, Chuck was not at home. Lowena met
me at the door and took rae by the hand to lead me Into
"You'll have a martini," she said, remembering. "On the
rocks and with a twist."
"Thank you," I said as she handed me the drink a
moment later. "How are you, Lowena?"
"Pregnant," she answered to my surprise.
I studied her face and found no joy in it. Her face was
a mask of determination, I noticed the bruise on her arm.
"Congratulations. Chuck must be pleased,"
"No, he isn't. He says it's too soon. He blames me.
Carl, something is happening to Chuck. Something very
"I know. I saw it begin last summer. But I suppose the
real beginning was long ago. He — he hurts you, doesn't he?"
She nodded. "But there is much worse than that. He
has made me hate him because he insists that I must
destroy the child, "
Chuck arrived then and our conversation took an aburpt
turn into safer channels. The dinner Lowena had pre-
pared was excellent but Chuck could not have appreciated
It, considering the way he drank before, throughout and
after the meal. By the time Lowena served the coffee —
Chuck refused it and poured himself another whiskey — he
was like an animal.
"I'm not even sure it's my kid !" he exploded at one point.
"Chuck 1" Lowena cried out in shock. You know I
"Shut up!" he muttered into his glass.
"Chuck," I said nervously. "Come on, man!"
"That slut is capable of anything," he muttered. "I
should have left her back there on that dung heap of a
reservation. She could spend her time weaving baskets
for the tourists instead of manufacturing kids we don't
need and can't afford."
Lowena stiffened and got up to leave the room.
Chuck leaped to his feet and grabbed her arm, twisting
it behind her. "You're staying!" he bellowed.
She cried out, more of a gasp than a scream.
"Let her go!" I yelled, jumping to my feet. As I did,
my wallet fell to the floor, I had been showing them pic-
tures of a girl I had met and with whom I was rapidly
tailing in love.
Chuck angrily shoved Lowena away from him with an
expression of utter disgust and she fell heavily to the
I went to her and helped her to her feet. Chuck swung
me around and his fist smashed into my face. I reeled
backward, tasting blood from a loosened tooth. Before I
could recover my balance,, Lowena was beside me and
leading me to the door.
"I'm so sorry, Carl," she moaned. "You'd better go.
When he's like this, lie's dangerous."
"I can't leave you here alone with him. I "
"Go," she said firmly. "I can handle him."
I found myself out in the hali. Lowena kissed my cheek
and told me not to worry. She would be in touch soon, she
said. She was sorry about the way things had turned out.
But I was not to worry about her.
I made my way down the steps and out of the building
and began to walk toward the bus stop. I must have taken
a wrong turn because I found myself in an unfamiliar
area some time later. I retraced my steps and eventually
found the bus stop. Only then did I rememher that I had
left my wallet in the apartment. I could have gotten it
from Lowena in the morning but I decided to go back
for It. It would give me a legitimate excuse to return
and see if she was all right.
When I reached the building, I climhed the stairs as I
had done earlier and soon found myself in front of their
apartment. I rang the bell and waited. When no one
answered, I rang again. Finally, I tried the door. It was
unlocked. I went in and found the room in darkness. I
couldn't remember where the light switch was and spent
Mime time fumbling about in the darkness trying to locate
it, calling Lowena's name softly as I did so, I didn't want
to frighten her.
She didn't answer.
I groped my way through the room which was only
vaguely lighted by the street light outside. I finally found
my wallet on the floor where it had fallen and was down on
my hands and knees feeling about for the pictures I had
taken from it when I heard the first of the awful sounds.
A faint, faraway chlttering as of rats in an abandoned
"Lowena?" I whispered in the darkness. "Chuck, is that
And then I saw them both as Lowena appeared beside
the window and drew the sheer curtains to admit more
light. "Lowena," I whispered, "don't be frightened. "It's
THE DARK DOOR
Her eyes were closed and she seemed not to have heard
me. 1 glanced at Chuck who lay sprawled In a drunken
slupor on the sofa. Lowena was raising her arms toward
the ceiling and tilting her head back so that her sightless
eyes were also raised to it. Sounds came from between
her slightly parted lips — words I couldn't recognize. I
moved toward her cautiously, feeling the chill that was
either in the room or in my own mind.
Before I reached her, she began to fade. Her body
seemed to undulate and then, glowing, it became trans-
lucent. I stopped and stared in alarm, unable to believe
what I was seeing. A trick of the iight, I told myself.
The cluttering grew louder. It was coming from
Lowena's direction. 1 took a step toward her and stopped
as 1 realized I could sec through her body! But what I
saw was not the wall behind her. It was — tomeivherel
Mists swirled there. Blue mists and mauve. Hideous, half-
seen figures I could not identify loped through those mists,
moving toward me from the place beyond Lowena!
The cluttering was, I realized, the voices of the creatures
moving in the mist.
And then, suddenly, the first of them entered the room
through the translucence that was Lowena. With them
came a ghastly odor, a charred odor, that was both dis-
gusting and overpowering. I gagged.
Some of them were furred, Some, feathered. None of
them stood more than a foot high. They glided into the
room on .slick bellies or fluttered with soft fat sounds on
leathery wings. They illexed dripping talons and bared
yellow teeth and mewled and cried out in thin chltlnous
shrieks as they moved across the floor to where Chuck
I backed away in horror. The things saw me then and
began scurrying to cut off my escape I They took up
positions between me and the door leading from the apart-
ment, groping toward me with grotesquely twisted limbs.
A word shot suddenly from between Lowena's lips, a
word I had never heard before and hope never to hear
again. The things halted at her command.
She spoke again In guttural, consonantal words, re-
directing the creatures toward her intended victim.
Chuck screamed once as the creatures crawled over him.
A furred one fluttered about his mouth and his cries
became gurgles and then low groans as he thrashed about
in his struggle with the things Lowena had summoned
through the dark door of herself. They pierced his body.
They clawed and bit and chewed in an orgy of destruction.
It lasted only seconds.
Afterwards, Chuck lay still, lifeless.
Lowena called out to the creatures from her trance
state and they obeyed her commands. I watched as they
trooped back through the translucent door that she had
become and moved swiftly off into the swirling mists that
embraced them as if in welcome and disappeared from
Lowena's body no longer glowed with that ghastly trans-
lueence. It firmed, resuming the familiar shape I knew
so well. Her bead lowered, her lips closed, and she fell
to the floor and lay there unconscious.
I ran from the room and down the stairs and out of the
building. I can't clearly remember how I got home that
night. I do recall that I didn't sleep. I was afraid that
I might dream.
Professor Windrow let out a breath he had evidently
been holding for some time. "What were those things you
saw?" he asked me.
"I don't know," I answered. "But I do know that the
people on the reservation were right in calling Lowena
the dark door through which unspeakable things can come
if she calls them. That night she called them. Tkny were
the 'person or persons unknown' who killed Chuck Derry."
Professor Windrow glanced covertly across the dining
room at Lowena who was holding the hand of her young
man and smiling happily at him. "I can readily understand
now why you said you were afraid of her," he commented
thoughtfully. "But I must say that her escort seems quite
contented with his lot."
"I hope he will be kind to her and to the little girl she
bore last month," I said softly. "I can't bear to think
of what might happen to him if he should treat her cruelly —
as Chuck did. She Is not the defenseless woman she seems
by Robert E. Howard
The little poets sing of little things:
Hope, cheer, and faith, small queens and puppet kings;
Lovers who kissed and then were made as one,
And modest flowers waving in the sun.
The mighty poels write in hlood and tears
And agony that, flame-like, bites and sears.
They reach their mad blind hands into the night,
To plumb abysses dead to human sight;
To drag from gulfs where lunacy lies curled,
Mad monstrous nightmare shapes to blast the world.
WITCHCRAFT & SORCERY
The Way She Lived Her Role Was Driving Me Mad . But If Her Role Died ....
by Pauline C. Smith
ILLUSTRATED BY STEVE FRITZ
I THOUGHT it was cute at first, the way she lived her part, feeding
me back my lines ... like we'd be in some candlelit bistro and she'd
hunch those milk-white shoulders, widen her gray-green eyes so the false
lashes not only sent shadows up into her flaxen hair but laid smudges
along her hollow cheekbones and say, in that husky voice she'd developed,
"What we are doing is wrong, Don."
My name isn't Don, it's Floyd, and what we were doing wai sitting
over beef stroganoff. So what's wrong with that?
"My sister is here. In this room with us."
Janet never had a sister.
"She will keep us from marrying, Don. She is evil. Evil."
All of which was my own corny dialogue from the twenty-first episode
of the serialized soap opera called THE HOUSE OF EVIL, a gothic.
Gothics are big this season, in case you didn't know, and the most
sucessful of them are laid in an old creaky mansion filled with sin-
later Influence and some cute little sexpot being chased
by ghosts and guilt complexes} like THE HOUSE OF
EVIL, In which Janet is the sexpot, Lorna, and I'm listed
on the crawl as head writer.
For six million daytime television viewers Janet, as
Lorna, breathes deeply) weeps glycerine tears while shud-
dering and sighing amid ominous piano chords and oboe
That's the way the script reads.
When I, an impoverished freelancer, was assigned THE
HOUSE OF EVIL, I grasped the weekly salary with
hungry hands. Here was success at last — not the fame and
fortune I had hoped for with my first lousy novel, but
security, and as long as I could keep Lorna chased, chaste
and suffering yet Indomitable so that six million out there
in television-land hung on, weeping and clutching their
Kleenexes, I had it made.
Janet, like I say, was a sexy little broad and the first
time I was on the set and heard my words coming through
that pound and a half microphone tucked smugly inside
her padded bra, she was the bubble of soap I wanted most
in my security bath.
I didn't get to Scene One until another thirty-six 1 se-
quences of slow dialogue, pregnant pauses, long closeups
filled with horrified shrieks finally wound up with Lorna
In Don's arms and, simultaneously, Janet in Floyd's (being
me, the writer).
"I am so afraid of the curse of my dead sister," breathed
"Darling," I breathed back, "together we will find the
answer to the secret and lay the spell of the curse," and
not until then did I realise that we were, by God, repeating
dialogue of the day's sequence.
Now you can't hurry soap, so we sloshed through forty-
two more terrifying and sodden sequences before Janet
became mine In Lorna's wedding gown— wispy, witchy and
virginal, and we moved into our apartment. By damn, if
Janet hadn't found an apartmentized Victorian mansion
that should have been condemned and hauled away years
"Goddammit, Janet," I yelled, "this Is a relic."
And she said, "Don't you swear at me," probably be-
cause Don can't use an expletive more powerful than for
Pttt't taki in front of those six million sitting on the
edge of their kitchen stools.
No kidding, our married life was a script— if it could
be played to an audience, It was played. If it couldn't,
forget It. Ours was a Mark it and Strike U apartment —
act it out between the chalk lines, with one take only.
It got so I was not only writing THE HOUSE OF
EVIL, but living it too, and, believe me, one gothic soap
sequence per day is ENOUGH. With our apartment a
studio set, starred by an onstage wife who used continuity
emotions and colled me by a script name, I wanted out.
"Janet," I yelled, "come alive," so she brought out her
work basket of expressions and knitted me a brow. I was
ready to climb the walls.
We'd go to the neighborhood supermarket for a loaf of
bread and a bottle of wine and get mobbed the minute a
bunch of horoemakers, who ought to be doing dishes instead
of hanging on television every morning, caught sight of
"There's Lorna I" they squealed like a bunch of teen-
agers — and, presto! there was Lorna all right, signing
autographs, and would you believe It, handing out advice
on ghosts in the attic,
It was fantastic!
There was a girl on the afternoon shift at the drug store
who brooded over the story line, and hissed regularly at
Janet, "I think the reason for the curse is that you killed
your sister. And I think you killed her so she wouldn't
get Don. I feel sorry for him — you always act so nice and
demure except when you're screaming, I know what you
are, and shame on you 1 ."
She gave me a whole new sub-plot at a time that I
needed a sub-plot.
Actually, it was hard to blame Janet for typecasting
herself with every soap opera- watching housewife and
gothlc-loving drug clerk egging her on with the Lorna
bit; but, dammit, I got so I felt like I was paper-clipped
to a page of working script.
Every night, while I clacked out a new installment on
the typewriter, Janet studied her lines for the next day's
shooting. Being a method actress, she started with a yoga
position of hard-breathing contemplation — breathe in — the
breasts swelled while she sucked her stomach to a hollow-
breathe out — breasts, stomach all back In place. It was
quite a sight to watch, after which she unscrambled herself
and became Lorna, speaking her complicated dialogue . . .
"The house Is against me, Don," with the knitted brow.
"Listen 1" and the indrawn breath, "I hear ghostly foot-
steps," clenching and unclenching her jaw muscles to con-
vey frightened anxiety, thus using all three in her arsenal
of acting devices.
It was a gas, like In carbon monoxide, and I was fed
up before the hundred and sixty-eighth episode. By then,
she was so much Lorna, the yoga stance only pushed her
from Lorna to more Lorna, and I began to wonder if there
was a Janet in there somewhere all curled up and sleeping;
unless maybe she'd never been Janet or anyone else, but
only an empty body searching around for a personality,
to become complete once she found Lorna.
I wished, since I was married to this carbon copy kook,
that I was writing a swinger script with swishy back-talk
along with some loving — but, let's face it, If I could write
snappy dialogue and smooth-sex, I could get locked in with
a good slot, throw away my psychological and parapsy-
chologlcal library, and make with the thesaurus like the
Then Janet, in her Lorna-voice, found the ghost.
"I hear footsteps," she said, her tone sepulchral,
"You hear the click of my typewriter," I answered her
"No," she said. "There Is a spirit moving."
There was a spirit moving met
I lifted my fingers from the typewriter keys. "Hey,
Janet," I called to her.
"Hey, Lorna," I tried.
"I'm Floyd," I said. "How about a divorce?"
She appeared to consider. Then she said, "Do you hear
it?" She was listening with far more expression than she
had ever used on the set. "Footsteps. Listen, Don. Listen
to the footsteps. They are from the other world."
I listened. Then I used a four-letter word she never
even heard because she was listening to the footsteps.
WITCHCRAFT & SO10EEY
I sat staring at her, my hands limp over my typewriter
keys. She left the footsteps and entered yoga again, and
the deep breathing exercises. I watched her with the awful
knowledge that I was stuck to this female fugue, faced
with the redundancy of writing words for her to say back
to me over and over again ... a future of reruns— writing
and listening, writing and listening again— unless . . . and
I flexed my fingers, ready to type— unless I could write
her off my back.
My typewriter clicked like castanets and the next day
I took my notes to the story conference.
"I got a great idea," I said airily at all those beady eyes
glowing with expectancy. "I got an Idea that'll boost us
upstairs into an afternoon slot."
"Give, Floyd baby, give," offered the network poobah.
"Well, it's this way ..." 1 sweat a little under my
turtleneck, "Instead of Lorna's sister, the ghost, bugging
Lorna with her ominous footfalls and vengeful catcalls,
she becomes friendly . . ."
'•Who becomes friendly, Floyd baby?" asked the poobah
in a carefully surpressed voice.
"The ghost. The ghost becomes friendly." I had a
moment of drowning in my own sea of words. My life
and all its flashbacks hung In balance. "The ghost becomes
"She becomes a friendly ghost, the do-good type, more a
blithe spirit kind of ghost, helpful, happy, lovingi thus
turning Lorna into a happy, loving sexpot . . ."
"Floyd baby," broke in the poobah, flicking cigar ashes
all over my script outline, "this is a gothtc by name of
THE HOUSE OF EVIL. You trying to change it Into a
Yes I That's exactly what I was trying to do. I was
trying to change the image of that carbon copy chick I
was superimposed behind.
"Floyd baby," said the poobah sternly, "No! He rose
from his chair to add emphasis to the word.
"Just a minute. I've got another angle," I cried with
fervor, and slowly and reluctantly the poobah folded again
to the edge of his chair, while I gave some rapid-fire
thinking as to how I could come forth with a split screen
effect. I knuckle-drummed the table thoughtfully and that
gave me an idea . . . "The sounds of Evil House become
more threatening," I said with an ominous growl In my
throat and some additional beats with the heel of my hand.
"Let's get on with it, Floyd baby," suggested the poobah
"There is, at last, a physical confrontation between the
sister-ghost and Lorna, and the secret, the terrible secret
Is disclosed at last." I looked around at all the beady,
lidded eyes and swallowed. "Lorna did kill her titter." 1
paused for the effect of my words. They had produced no
"Yes," I said, hopeful that repetition might cause im-
pact, "Lorna knows now, for a fact, that she did kill her
sister — accidentally, of course — but she rememberB it all . . ."
"So what happens to Lorna?" asked the poobah gently.
"Naturally, she's out of the script," I said, gaining con-
fidence. "And the ghost begins to haunt . . ."
The poobah did not allow me to finish my plans whereby
I would break up the Janet-Lorna syndrome and gain
Janet-whoever-she-was as my own. "Floyd baby." The
poobah rose and flicked his ashes again. "Floyd baby, I'll
give it to you straight. You've got a strong lead-in and
your tease Is great. But formatwise it stinks. We can't
Just toss out our long-suffering, indomitable sex-wlthout-
sex symbol into Umbo. The housewives would wipe us"
out of video-land with one concerted swipe of their dish
towels , . ."
I caved within my turtle-neck,
"Floyd baby, your contract comes up next month. I
suggest you keep the ghost ominous and the secret a secret.
I suggest you continue Lorna's deep breathing and her
shrieks . . ." He rolled the cigar around in his fingers and
patted me on the shoulder with a Great White Father pat.
"The ghost ghosts, Lorna stays In. Floyd baby, that's
the way the script scrambles — if you want your contract
Back to the typewriter.
Each evening, I watched Janet make like Lorna and
not within my plot within plot.
Every evening Lorna , , , see, it's getting to me, I mean
Janet . . . went through her yoga routine with the breathing
and contemplation. "The ghost walks 1" she said, studying
her lines aloud, "Don, the ghost is walking again," as she
pointed, so help me, at the old marble fireplace in the old
run-down apartment In that old Victorian mansion, making
a montage of the unreality of the studio set Into the reality
of our nutsy life.
I tore my hair, knowing that if I didn't do something
to separate me from this funny female I'd be as far-out
Write her off, I told myself, and bent my brains to
figure out how to do that with the poobah breathing over
my shoulder, scattering cigar ashes over my contract.
She pointed her taloned finger dramatically at the fire-
place as she hollowly announced, "Footfalls. Listen to the
ghostly footfalls, Don. Listen. Just listen."
Me? I listened like an idiot and heard nothing except
the words I had already typed.
Janet was Jiving the part all right. It was inside her,
shaking her to bits, hollowing her face, painting shadows
beneath her eyes and my facile writer-mind angled into
straight psychology. Letters and cards rolled in, sym-
pathizing with "possessed Lorna.." The dames in the
supermarket toned down their shrieks and walked on tip-
toe. The nut in the drug store mellowed and said, "If
you killed your Bister, I'm sure she deserved it and you
are sorry. You are paying, poor Lorna, you are paying
a big price."
It was crazy, man, like where's-the-nea rest- funny-farm.
The drug store nut did it . . . well, so did the "Pos-
sessed" cards and letters, for surely Janet was possessed
and surely she would pay a price, not In the script that
would cancel my contract but in her own padded gray cells.
So I started to work on It. Not on the script, but on
Lorna and I do mean Lorna.
I tapped out the daily script with its dally dialogue,
then I listened to her rehearsal as she sat cross-legged,
and watched her three expressions as she feebly emoted.
While I tapped and listened and watched, I fed Lorna
subliminal messages. "You killed her," I said softly. "You
killed her," between taps as I watched and listened.
"The footfalls," she said out-of-script, as she looked to-
ward the fireplace. "The footfalls approach."
"You killed her," I added subllmlnally. "You remem-
ber, Lorna. You remember the killing, the murder, Lorna."
She shuddered In her yoga position.
"You remember, Lorna.. You remember it now."
She rose and turned toward the fireplace. I remember,"
Now I was working on one script and feeding another.
HOUSE OF EVIL
Triumph wu near. It was difficult to keep the script and
the messages from overlapping in my mind while they
overlapped In Lorna's.
"The shock," I said softly, "will kill you, Lorna."
Her eyes glazed to gray-green glass.
"You will die, Lorna, with the full knowledge of murder.
Your heart will stop. You will die, Lorna, tomorrow."
She drooped and I hoped.
The following day I was on the set. It was the game
old sound direction! OMINOUS FOOTFALLS. SOUND
OF THE WIND. AN EERIE MOAN. And the same
old dialogue: "Don, she is here again. In the house. I can
feel her presence. Oh, Don."
I watched from my seat on the closed set as Lorna cast
herself into Don's arms.
The sound track came through with some more footsteps.
Don said gently, "I don't feel her, Lorna dear."
Lorna stiffened, and she did It well. "I remember. Oh,
I remember . , ."
It was here that the script continued to the next page,
with Lorna'* typed words, "I remember when we were
children in this big old house . . ." The script was on file,
but I had not given Janet the following pages. I had given
her only to the page with the "I remember. Oh, I remem-
ber," dialogue. The rest had been subliminal— my words:
"You remember that you killed her, Lorna. You remember
your guilt. Vou are overwhelmed by it. For you remember
at last. Lorna, the shock of your knowledge kills you.
You fall. Your heart stops. You are dead."
The director decided to play Instant God. "Cut and
go hack," he yelled.
I leaned forward in my seat, hoping he wouldn't break
the thread of suggestion.
"Back to 'I can feel her presence,' " yelled the director.
"She is here again," Lorna said onstage. "I can feel her
presence. Oh, Don."
Don then did his adequate job with, "Lorna dear, I
don't feel her . . ."
Lorna stiffened (according to directions) and I tensed.
"I remember," she cried. Oh, I remember . . ."
She fell as I rose.
The camera and sound men went on grinding for a full
thirty seconds before pandemonium set in.
"Why, she's dead," said the poobah, sprinkling ashes
Yes, she was dead. Janet was dead.
And so was Lorna.
"Floyd baby, the poobah whirled on me. "Write it Into
the script. Write It out of the script. Do something!"
I am here now, in this Victorian broken-down apartment
trying to do something with the script. I don't really know
what to do because of those footfalls over there by the
They seem to be approaching.
Introducing the macabre art
of Robert £. Jennings
WITCHCRAFT & SOECBRY
Wanted to Know.
All He Had to Do
by Carleton Grindle
ILLUSTRATED BY ROBERT E. JENNINGS
There were three of them: Logan and two hirelings. They went up five
flights of stairs so narrow they seemed meant for goats not men. At the top
they found a door only slightly less dingy than the walls. Logan tried the
door, found it locked and motioned for Heffernan who had a trick for open-
ing locked doors. Heffernan did his trick. The door swung slowly open.
The room beyond was dimly lit as if frozen in perpetual dusk. What light
poured in through the open door touched a face. It was only a charcoal sketch
on an easel but Logan stopped in the doorway and stared for a moment as if
he could not believe his eyes.
There was nothing possible about that sketched face: not the way the flesh
hung at the jowls as if from some inhuman bone structure, not the cold bitter
light that was suggested in otherwise vacant eyes. Yet those features and oth-
ers mom grotesque were gathered in a way that suggested not only that they
' belonged together but thul the artist drew the subject from life.
Or perhaps afterlife.
There was someone standing in the deeper shadows of the room. A low,
nwllow voice asked, "What do you want?"
The hireling, Heffernan, found the light and switched it on.
The room's occupant was tall and gaunt. He blinked pale, watery eyes
against the sudden light and his hair was a neutral color. He might well have
blended right into the SfitBHtry raeejtl that he was too bland for this tenement
setting. His eyes adjusted to the light and he looked at the intruders without
fear. That was as Logan exper.ted it would lit but the movement of Heffernan 's
feet told him Heffernan did not understand the gaunt man's laek of fear. That
too, was at l,ogan exper.ted. He said, "Your name's Fisher."
"My name is Ward. James Ward."
"No good. You're fisher, all right. James Fisher/'
"My name's Ward. I never heard of James Fisher."
"Ever heard of the Momentary Ghost?"
The gaunt man's attitude changed. He gave a tjgh as if there was some re-
lief at being found, but not much. The pale watery eyes seemed to acknowl-
edge his identity if his tips did not. Logan smiled in triumph.
"Now you see? All that running and hiding and here you've been found
out again. Hut don't worry, I need help from you and after that we'll let you
go your own way and never bother you again."
"Who are you?"
"My name's Ijtgan-you never heard of me."
"Look, Mr. logan, I can't help you. I'm nut this Fisher you're looking for.
Whatever you want with him I can't help you."
"Now sure you can. I know you're Fisher. I've seen pictures of you. You're
• older, thinner, lest some weight. Hut I know who you are. I can 6ee who you
are. So no game*, all right? Level with me and III level with you. Agreed?"
Fisher looked around. The other two men stood in relaxed postures near
the door, exhibiting their talent for unoblrusion. After a moment Fisher
thought it through and nodded his head. "I'm Fisher," he admitted. "But I
can't help you."
"You don't even know what I need."
"I know what you want. You want me to go over, but I can't do that. 1
"You say you lost the power?"
"1 can't go over, that's all. Haven't in years."
Logan shook his head. He turned and looked again at the drawing on the
easel. "You saw this over there didn't you?"
"A long time ago. I don't go back there anymore."
"Don't," said Logan. "You say 'don't' not 'can't.' "
Logan studied the drawing a minute, hit, sS.-sUsi.lf: «videnl in his face. "If
this is what they're like over there I don'! !sl;!i»e yt'i. not wanting to go back.
But I need you. I need the help of the Momentary Ghost and III pay for the
"1 don't need money."
"Anyone stuck in a dump like this steeds tnoHcy. I.Et me tell you about
r-:..y proiiierei ! £-ti ihU friend, this lMi»i:!e;!b partiier. * sy>« you'd sey hi: sent
over. Well he had siwssef hirifs in hk care sun! s;o» I cars \ find it. I want you to
go and talk to him. Just chat and so on. I'm sure hell be glad to tell you
where it is and you can tell me. fill he that pleasant and when it's over with,
you just come on back and give me the info and III pay you a good heavy fee
and you can go anywhere you like and drop out of sight with enough bread
to buy your privacy. It's that simple."
"I haven't been over in years. 1 can't do it anymore."
Logan came to him and gave him a smile: deep and reassuring. "Sure you
can. Think of the money. You can gel out of this goddamned slum and go
someplace like Braid and hid*, in rhs syn Think of that. No more shadowy
rooms with more cobwebs than furniture. Ill give you enough money to gel
to Braiil and set yourself up where nobody can find you. . .
"It's been so long. I've lost the power. But even if 1 still had it-. Logan,
you don't know what it's like. 1 can't take it."
"Maybe not Brazil then. Maybe Majorca or Tahiti. Where is up to you!"
Heffernan stepped forward. He was a big man, well groomed and muscu-
lar: the look of an athlete with a touch of show business in him. A wrestler,
perhaps. "You do as Mr. Logan says," he said levelly.
"I want you to come with me to my plae.e and we can work out arrange-
ments, okay?" Logan said. "I pay well. My fri«nds hews, Mr, Heffernan and
Mr. Lovelace will testify to my generosity, wwA you gentlemen?"
Both men nodded.
"See? You'd be doing yourself a favor to eo-operate."
"No," Fisher said. "No."
He tried to
ach anrl was followed by another
He moved so swiftly he was almost to the door before Heffernan compre
hended his action. But before he could open the door something slammed in
to his hack. Air rushed from hit, lump and he fell stunned to the floor. H
rolled over and tried to reach the door, to throw it open. He saw Heffernan'
smooth shaved ruddy face bending over him, saw the fit
roll aside but the fist slammed inl
sledge hammer blow to his jaw.
"Don't hurt him," l«gan cried out.
The blows stopped but Fisher's senses swam in semi -consciousness. He w
barely aware of the two mil
from his room, down the stairs and out into the late afternoon BanUght. in
He swam in a world of blackness seasoned with ]>ain and it was Spring.
"Gently, boys, gently, . . ," eame Logan'.-, luicv through the darkness.
"He can take it."
"We don't want him damaged."
"But he won't co-operate."
"There's other ways to make a man talk. Belter ways. Leave him alone
now with his pain. He'll be more agreeable tomorrow."
They left. Spring became Summer and Summer became Fall followed by
Winter: the full cycle in a world of agony, flul though pain eased off Winter
WSS stilt ec4d and bitl« with his thoughts.
The thoughts of the Momentary Ghost.
And of someone waiting for him where he feared to go.
He saw her face swimming up out of the darkness toward him. Soft and
lovely. Clear pale skin. Lovely green eyes. Full espressivc lips. Golden red hair
that he never compared to a sunset because it was loo wonderful of itself, too
unlike anything except itself. How long it seemed since she had gone, not mo-
mentarilv as he had often gone, but permanently.
And the agony of that thought was greater than the pain of his beating
But after a time, he slept. And a time after that, he awoke.
It was morning. He could tell by the light streaming in from the narrow
window high in the wall, light that had a certain clarity characteristic of the
morning He sal up on the edge of the bed and let hiss senses swim dizzily.
The beating was profession', ar.d proficient. Hs- iva* sore but when he
cheeked himself he found few bruises. Nothing seemed broken. He was weik
and hungry and realised that much more of this and he might go over and not
come back. He searched his thoughts frantically for some way out hut thought
He looked round the room he was in and thought of the word cell. The
ceiling was high and a single small window near the ceiling, too small to
crawl through even if it could be reached, provided what light there was. The
walls were bare and white as bus iiu- (He fW, Tin- nrtly furniture was the cot
on which he sat. There was nothing to ir-dime the room's original puqiose
and Fisher could imagine Logan had it built with the purpose of holding un-
sillisig giicsli. ii> snirid. Lo^fi seamed -inpibrlt prepared io? the t.nti-dnstiing.
of unwilling guests.
Without warning the door opened and i/:,:fi» eatne JTti.o the room.
He was wearing dark blue slacks and a powder blue shirt open at the neck,
where he had a red and blue bandana knotted. He smiled.
"Morning, Fishet. How you feeling today?"
"Like I've been beaten up."
"Don't he bitter. When you overcome your reluetence you'll find the pay's
better than you dreamed of."
"Money doesn't interest me."
"Not going hack."
"I can't he that generous. 1 need yon and your talent."
"You could get a medium."
"I could get a private cop, too. Wouldn't beip mi- any more than any medi-
um would. Otto Case is just too clever a man for that. He won't be called back
and he didn't leave this thing where anyone can find it. No medium can call
i back. But you - you can go after him."
"I shouldn't think yours is
WITOHOBAI-T A flOBOEBY
I«gan shook his head. "I don't believe that yarn. I know a bit aboi
stuff. My old lady was a medium. You buy that? One of the best. From
she was a teenager to the day she died, in her seventies. She could call the
spirits beck. I've tried mediums, ihtmgh not my mother, rest her soul, and
the mediums can't rail Use bark. It's up to you and I ain"t swallowing this
Wt stuff. You want to go, you go back. I intend to make you want to
Fisher realised suddenly that his hands »e.rs: >w iisliiSg tic wiped his palms
on his trouser legs and .spotted small dried flecks of blood on his clothing
ftum his nose or mouth during the S.«.sS.i«s yesterday, probably He groped
fist words a moment, then said, "Logan there's a reason I can't go back."
Fisher continued. "It's not a natural tiling, this talent I . . . had. To die
temporarily and tome back. I saw thing* you wouldn't believe unless you
saw them yourself. Terrible things. That drawing in my place-the face- was
nnc of those things and there"" a lot thete that's worse. "
"Yon went there lots of times. Couldn't he had if you went all that often."
"But something happened. I lost my nerve. It's like anything-like flying
an airplane or fiding a horse. You have to have nerve to do it. Once you lose
your nerve you never can do it again.
"Okay. So tell me what happened."
Fisher stared down at the pristine floor. "I can't."
"Whatever it is don't matter. Ill pay you enough to make up for it More
hi his memory. Fisher saw the face again. The green eyes, tile tiale skin,
hV goltfcu red hair.
"You can't pav me that much.'" he said.
The smile was gone from lagan's face. "Maybe »c can. Hut not the way
you want. No food and in a few davr vou go over on your own. Maybe we
can bring you back, mavhe we can't. That's the chance we lake. It's up to
He left ami Fisher heard the door being locked.
He stared down at the floor and fell sotsie'-hi'ig shaking his hody the way
a dog shakes a rag dull. That something was fear.
To go over for fiterll nuriHtes, tlwtt was hell.
But to go. over and never come back what could vou call that?
!iedr,^ W !i. J -^,t^^yye., f ,™o, £ er.
Twenty year*, yonder fl"d. happier. A man with a unique talent that was
almost a power. A frightening, mind rrvi;wtljt talent that was still an instru-
ment which could help people. In his own small way he made a contribution
Then, ' was L D was It" than a year old and
Laura and Fisher were as happy as any two parents could he: as happy as any
two people could be. Thev had their life and the happiness that life gave them
rain, from taring ' ng to one another came naturally and eas-
■\y !;> '■■nh i.) them. M &:■<; ii-.ri.i life tuaethe-r purpose ar ,ii m-aning ;ind drew
them together more closely than any other -,:>m.,k Fisher ever knew. He and
lauta were perfect for .me another. And Diane made it all the more perfect.
Then his dream carried him to the day when sharing became hell.
(J i Ms t
(Short and his was the power to cross over, to tra-
vel among the troubled dead. To speak with them, to see them, to hear them.
It was the one part of his life he shared with no one else.
At first he opposed Liura's idea. He wasn't sure anyone could cross over
and return but him. But she insisted and lie rjsvc in. One eight he crossed the
barrier between life and death and Laura went with him.
Now in his dream he relived that moment: the sensation of travelling a-
eross the hellish, unbelievable plains of madness that was the beyond. He flew
above those plains and at his side flew Laura, frightened, awed and fascinated
hv the sights he showed her: the masses of the dead wandering lost and hope-
lessness of death with him, the poinllessliess ol living mejely to he transmitted
to a place that was an agony much worse than any hell of medieval imagin-
ed so. accompanied by Uura he toured the places of the dead ami then
returned to the place of life, Hut he returned without 1-aura.
Ill his dream he relived the agony of shaking her hody. Irving to recall her
from her trance only to realize that she would not he recalled.
He had taken the woman he loved beyond the boundary of life.
But he had no means to bring her back.
The door opened and Logan looked in. It was dark now, hut Fisher's eyes
were accustomed to the dark. He lay on the cot and made no effort to rise
as he watched Iflgan.
now more ahout death than any other living man."
Again no reply.
"How many times vou cross over?" Lo^ai. asked "You keep count* Hun-
dreds at least from what I heard. Thousands probably. You seen it. You of
all men have actually seen \h( afterlife. Tell meahout the afterlife."
"1 can tell you in four words, Logan. I'm afraid to die."
That was answer enough for now. More than Logan deserved. Fisher shut
ilia pyes- iijgtinM the diifkrwss Ms! isritfd the doot dose. !ie tried t.o slepp but
his stomach ached with hunger,
in his cell time passed slowly. He thought back.
He thought to the time when he was just a man with ambitions of lining
an artist. He was a good painter and he made a small but comfortable living.
Then he discovered his talent and found a way to do something for others. At
that point in his life helping others was important to him. He never thought
that there might lie a price to pav.
He thought of Diana
Since the death of laura she hud lived with her grandparents- Laura's folks.
1'B.her's. par.'in., were dead, and di?d inhvn he was ten years old.
Once he saw them in afterlife.
He could never forget that sight. He could not recall why he had gone that
time: to settle some pntly (juestioil fot someone or other. Most of the trou-
ble he had solved for people now seemed such petty things-questions of
"s wishes ahout this or the other triviality. But people
I lie ■
He saw them buried in a viscid gray slibManUe that seemed to he the lower
portions of their bodies melted and joined to the Wain of Madness itself. They
reached up with clawed fingers, miipin^ f<w him. Thev opened ravening beaks
UmH-nii of mouth* Th.-: d.isnm;. iiisf <hv dead syffsrf'd m this [doce f rials tsned
the Momentary Ghost hut none affected him mote than the changes his own
S mind from the thought of them. He tried to make his:
think <<i s»m« thing f-U<\ <:i Shi: Intuit r iu his stomach, anything.
His mind though: ol th( great feat within him.
The fear that if he did go hack he would see Laura. And he would se
,s discomfort, Fisher slept. He
Night passed and morning came. Despite
was a* : aji«sied by (he ^penisiji ol his r?i\ liont
He turned toward the door and saw a ghost.
It was a girl. A beautiful, frightened girl. It was Uura, twenty years ago.
He cried out and sat up. He scrambled to get to his feet but his weakness
betrayed him and he fell. The door shut. He got to his feet and stumbled to it.
"Laura!" he called. He hammered on the door with his fists.
She did not answer hi* cans Wt! after a time he told himself he had dream-
ed it. He sank to the floor and swore bitterly beneath his breath. The door o-
"Ready to discuss a deal?' asked logan.
"Laura -? Fisher voiced his incompletely framed thoughts.
"Not 1 .aura," Logan said. "Diana. Hoi* h'tig's >'. ( .«::'i *ince you saw your
Fisher sat up. The cold logic of what Logan was doing cleared his mind,
deadened the pain of his hunger.
"You ready to have a chat with me?"
"You bastard. You dirty son of a bitch!"
"If you're afraid to die yourself, how do vou feel about her dying?" Logan
asked. "She will if you don't do what I want you to do. "
"Let me see my daughter."
"CoopeMte with is;;- and you'll we lief i'iie first thing is you have some
breakfast, iherell he time enough for a family reunion later on."
chair and felt the softness of uphol
but drew no comfort from it.
"Otto Case was my business. Mariner, sort of," 1-ogan was saying,
something going together. Case died. Now since his death I've had
THE MOMENTARY QH08T
locating certain business funds he was in charge of. I think he had a Swi
bank account and I need information about it. I need the account number
"Ib that all?"
"Sure, just a simple little ten minute trip, right?"
Fisher was unsmiiins; "fr. dfi^nds on Use. If he wants to talk he'll tell n
I ask him. A lot of them are talkative when they sec someone from 01
m'( force him to talk."
"He better talk," said:
"I hope he will."
Logan chuckled, almost warmly. "Take it easy, Fisher. Just take it easy.
You pit nothing to worry about at all now have you?" fie slapped Fisher's
shoulder. Fisher looked up at him. If U.gtn notion the look in Fisher's eyes
"Now what do you need?" Logan asked.
"Not much," Fish?; relied "puiet, solitude."
Logan frowned. "Is that all? Don't you need n lot of iicople sitlinij-around
"I don't call the dead. 1 go to them.i need a comfortahle chair in a dark
room, I need to be left alone. Ill call you when I gel back. And above all else,
no one must touch my body. "
"You want us to leave you by yourself, is that it?" Logan's tone was sly.
"You can guard the room if you like. Jusl don't come in it. You should
know I'm not going anywhere,"
•'Yeah, I guess you Ye not at that. All right, fisher. It's a deal. You just
bring hack the word from Otto Case, all right? "
"No 'if about it. You make him talk, that's all!"
"And how do you make a dead man talk, Logan?"
He sat in a heavily upholstered chair izi the center of a room darkened by
heavy drapes pulled across the windows. The hack of the chair was high and
he let his head rest against it, shut his eyes, felt the comfort of the chair.
It had been so long. , ,
i!e thought back, remembering what it was like before. Recalling the way.
So many years before. . . Hut he had not forgotten. He could never forget.
He sank into the comfort of the chair and il was like falling asleep yet he
wan conscious of it all. His cy« wen* dosed, his *mm i.athed in darkness.
Then, though his eyes were still shut he could see the darkened room.
His conscious self struggled against the restraints of its casement of flesh.
How familiar was that struggle despite the years. How strange to him de-
spile the familiarity. Il was as if his mind rebelled against its own existence,
struggled against bars of flesh and bone, hlood and marrow. Struggled with a
desperate urge for freedom. Straggled-and was free
drifted above his own body and looked down at the gaunt corpse that sat in
the chair waiting for his return.
It was years since ibe .last time be looked down at his own bodv like that.
Technically, medically and spiritually, he was dead and he knew he would
remain dead until his return. And if he did not return within a short time-or
if someone disturbed his waiting body -he would be unable to return. How
long could he remain outside his body? Not more than a few minutes, pro-
bably. He had never devised a test for that which he was willing to try. But he
™ld have all the ■
ded, for where he
« gf.ma in
is not tilt
Nor was space or feeling or purpose or anything else. And he hated it
And dreaded it. But he had no choice. He sel his mind in a certain wa;
upon the fabric of existence and the strands unraveled and parted for him.
Do the Plains of Madness change?
Gray and brown rolling fields, cut here and there with jagged upthrusling .
spires of rock. Littered at random intervals with twisted, withered flora: a
sort of fungus which moved and writhed as if with the pangs of hunger-and
what it fed on the Momentary Ghost did not care to know. And the plains
Here nomadic tribes of dead wandered, blinded by the unholy light of the
eternal sun that shone down upon the plains-a sun lliat was an obscene tra-
vesty of the sun of that other world they hud known. Here too were others of
the dead, pale and aimless, each different from the others, each changed hy
afterlife, each lasting out eternity in his own way.
Now the Momentary Ghost saw a man rooted to the ground like a tree, his
abnormally tall body stretching upward toward the skv, bis voice a constant
high-pitched scream of agony bitten away by the wind. The Momentary Ghost
saw a melting pool of humanity, of revenants thrown together for whatever
reason or by whatever whimsy rules these plains to form a lake of molten
flesh, a camal, fetid mixture of the tormentere. And then-
Stunted twisted men, their vitals trailing behind their grotesque bodies as
they crossed gray lava fields-
Pale zephyr like beings wafted by the wind, grated by the sand, bruised by
rock6, burned by the sun, frozen by the wind-
I-ost souls wandering as aimlessly in death as in life-
All this the Momentary Ghost saw as he sped above the plains of madness
in search of a man he had never seen.
In this place Fisher wore, after a fashion, a body. It was like his earthly
body yet it was paler, more guant, less real-seeming. It was carried by the
winds above the plains toward the mountains at the edge of the plains-moun-
tains that thrust up like teeth from the lower jaw of a shark. The wind carried
his body along and the wind sang to him. But the Momentary Ghost knew the
song of the wind and he feared and hated it.
Feared, hated, despised. . .
And dreaded. For this was afterlife. This was it. All that earthly life leads
up to-all that mankind really means. And somewhere in the plains or in the
Don't think of her. Keep your mind from thoughts of Laura. Think of
something else. Think of Otto Case, the man you search for. Don't think of
But what if I find her?
He shut his spectral eyes against the thought but the thought and its agony
e the Momentary Ghos
is that edged the
Like massive stalagmites of hell the mountains reached toward but they
did not touch him. Between the peaked mountains he saw canyons and val-
leys, the beds of acid rivers, uncertain passes obscured by virulent swirling
mists. Could Laura be somewhere in these mountains, perhaps all but dis-
solved in some river, or even hidden in some sickening mist?
Think of something else. Think of Otto Case-
Then past the mountains where he had never been before.
He saw jungle.
A place of fantastic interlwinings of black foliage and strange flowers a-
mong which his eye caught glimpses of moving things. Misformed things be-
yond even his experience. He drifted downward and knew this was the place
for which he searched. That here he would find Otto Caae,
He settled in a clearing.
Tall trees twisted in agonising shapes to reach high above him. Vines and
creepers grew stranghngly around the trunks of the trees and from the vines
grew black, hideous flowers that dripped a gelatinous oiiy substance that ate
like acid into the ground it fell on. The Momentary Ghost peered around, saw
only deeper shadows among the raven trees, yet heard faint meanings of ac-
customed agony from within the jungle.
And where was Case? Somewhere around here the Momentary Ghost knew.
That was part of it, part of the strange power that made him what he
was. His travels into the realm of afterlife always brought him to the person he
sought. Yet he saw no sign of Case. Had the years affected his abilities?
Then a dry rustling as if leaves brushed against one another and liked it not.
The Momentary Ghost whirled around. Something came into the clearing,
parting branches at the clearing's edge.
No longer human, too twisted even to be called a parody of his former
A long, narrow head bobbed at the end of a long pliant neck that seemed
to grow directly from the creature's pelvis-all that seemed left of the trunk
of Case's torso. Long, awkward and disjointed legs. A tail, a scorpion's tail.
The head, bald and narrowed with pointed ears and open, vacant eyes. The
skin a pale shiny gray. And all about the body a mist like a swarm of insects.
Moving with a shambling, loping gait, Otto Case crossed the clearing toward
the Momentary Ghost.
Grossed and stopped to stand, his long spindly neck craning upward in-
ward Fisher. The mouth opened and saliva poured out with words. "I am
aid. "You have come to si
18 WITOHOBAJTT & SOBOEBY
Now the neck twisted and craned so that the head rose, above Fisher. It
cocked to one side and agonized eyes, drained of color, peered down at him
as if trying to imagine a creature stranger than itself. "But why?" it asked.
"Have you come to do more to me than has been done? Why? Why?"
"I have come only to talk to you,"
The creature stepped aton
metit«." Perhaps you have CI
have you done to me? Why!"
"I have done nothing to you," replied the Momentary '
The grotesquely misshapen hands gestured picaiSiii^iy. ''.
you look normal. Real. You must know what 8 happen ii;g. W
understand any of this.''
B, there isn'l limi
id*, choh'ng for i
'" I'hif-! laid. "Logan w
misshapen hands reached for fisher's
s closed light and aqueezed.
,kj»j>e.i arid struggled, tiring to free
se was much too strong for him. The
&d bjrlp ''i"'.'d out for air.
e Le stiiiffral out? He doubted it, Hut
. I r
e from nowhere." The pale .
it would hit me. Only i must have passed out. ''
"h did hit you."'
"It couldn't. It was going too fast. I would have Ire. n killed, I passed
It must have served aside. But when 1 eame to I was here and tlie char
was starting. Where am I? What have you done to me?"
"I've done nothing. This is death."
"I can see. T ean feel. 1 ean think."
"This is death."
The creature moved quickly, the hesii ffiirsiH usiuo ^tiHileiily Fisher l!i<
(ase was attacking him. But the eyes stared piea.iir.tti; into his and the
tare shook not with Curv but with fear. "V<h^ E woke up i «; S . already ■-•
iB,S Ik, ¥<>« know Knw it began? With my hands, look at them."
He held them awkwardly for Fisher to see. "Onee I had fine hand-.. Hi
hands. Strong, clever hands. When 1 was a child I played piano. I retnc
that. Now my hands have .ii«-i^il My bands. I.ook at them: three fi
and they're long Better suited for running and climbing than for thi
hand should do."
The creature turned away and moved arms, lb.; de^ng. With a move
that reminded Fisher of the way a eamel kneels, Case fell l» hi- knee-.
his face into mutated hands.
"Where am I?" it asked. "What have you done to me''"
The Momentary Ghost fought hack the urge to try comforting the cr.
for he knew there was no comfort in hell. "This is whit death is lik<
said, "When we die, we come here and we change. I've come to ask
question. Give me vour answer and 111 leave yon alone.
"I can think, I can feel. That can't he death."
"But it is. Uo you know your name?"
"My name? Otto Case-."
"Do you remember a man named Logan?"
"Logan?" the creature said. It spat the name like something bitk
sprang to its feet, turning to glare with baleful eyes at holier. "'"
here. Not me.' He sent me here. He senl me here where they -
"Did Logan send you he.
this. I saw the driver of that
»„k tii>- -ff.p hut tr.uld not. S-liseffflfKaorfhisajjony we«-
ing him. His arms fell vvcaMv. uselessly to We side. '1'rs<w
;; ;m ? in he. ear* fj ni.iieh th.e agonv in his throat and lungs.
wily into the malefic face of the creature that once was
eyes lore from Fisher's gaie and the face grew slack with
fisher (ell to the
; as she had been twenty years ago. Her lung
like a veil across her face but Fisher saw her
>ered it. He closed his eyes light against the
me closer and he would see the wavs she had
III of tin
creature that had bee
(1 Otto Case. He o-
to the raven jungle.
anus reached out. tih
came toward him.
1 to his feel. He had
o wish to see how
to know. He cried ou
an inarticulate cry
id let it pull his spect
al body high above
■ where the fahric of
pace was lorn and
tSe mohehtabt ghost
Bui fie had faik(i. Am! failure meant death- nol just for him, which was a
thing he peal!}' feared, hut for Diana as well.
He could hear ihe clock in the room ticking away ihf seconds. How long
could he slay from his boflv Iwfore he would he pcrmaitctly barred from it?
Hr did not know. Nor did he care. He thought of Laura as he had known her
years ago, and m lie had seen \w (list moment* ago. Diana was the important
one now, the one with the i:hance to live. He could not, would nol, let any-
thing happen to her.
Hn i7.ovi.-i few. ihe nwir, (hvotijj.b the wall f.c she cosridor heyond.
Heffernan was sealed, dozing in o chair outside l''ishff's room. For a mo-
ment Fisher poised iiWe him. "taring dot-n at she be-i-iy, sleeping man. But
il was nol Heffernan who interested him. It was Diana.
He drifted above Heffernan for a moment, testing the psychic vibrations
in the air ahool him. He could sense Logan, of course, and Heffernan. And a
thirrl man. [hen he sensed Diana. Not strong, bist :i*v<Ti.heleas close. He drift-
ed toward her.
Further down the corridor he drifted through a wall and found her in the
room beyond. She lay asleep on the bed. She was young and lovely as her
mother had been; but Fisher saw now thai the reseniUlance to Laura, though
strong, was basically superficial, Fk* fare wa« shaped liked Laura's face and
the nose was like her mother's. Seen briefly thev might seem to look the same
But as he stared down at his riaoghter, Fisher saw that she was not her mother
Her cheeks were slightly more pronounced than J aura's, an inheritance
[Kciuips from hf? gsuiit usUii.-.?. She netfiserj, strficiwd out on V\n hsA. a hii
taller than Laura-hut only a bit. Her eyes were closed hut they seemed dif-
ferent- though that, of course, might be nothing more than the difference
brought on bv modern make-up. It was Fisher's first good look at his daughter
in twenty years.
She stirred slightly but did not come
Fisher did no! think she was drugged. He
hack into the corridor.
Heffernan still dozed, his chair propped against the wall next to the door
to Fisher's room. Fisher paused above him, litisririt down, a plan forming in
his mind. It was wild and impossible, but perhaps it might work. He could
think of nothing else and realizing that, he did not pause to consider how it
The Momentary Chost moved down toward Heffernan. Into Heffernan.
He saw llefferuan's face come to life. The eyes opened, the mouth gaped,
but Ihe only sound issued was a strange, gating noise, Fisher sank deeper
into the shell that was Hl'ffiimsil ] ,|t stru^hng as he
never struggled before, fighting not with Heffernan but with the essentia) ani-
mating force of the man.
And it wa* a slru Kfi !e in which fisher outclassed Heffernan completely. He
shoved and twisted Ihe man s u. IISJ ,\, driviHs it from it's own body. And as
Fisher drove it out, the body fell forward and the chair slammed to the floor
as the body toppled from it.
Itul the battle was over. Fisher saw the pale wispy shadow of Heffernan's
soul drift upward. He heard the raw, Unearthly soundless scream of the thing
as apace and time opened up around it, permitting it entry to the afterlife
Fisher was so familiar with.
And then it was over and the corridor seemed to echo with its own silence.
Fisher dropped into the corpse and felt his own anima flow into it, form-
ing to il like batter to a mold.
For the first time he was really scared. He had never taken oyer any body
but his own before -much lest kiHsd ., oisn, Only the knowledge that Heffer-
nan would not hesitate to kill Diana made Fisher's actions possible.
He fell awdward in the larger body. Awkward and out of place. Already
he was aware of strassye, (ii>j;miiii;u cmisculiiiire, different habit patterns and
appetites. Rut ther< ws no mors Sims He jusdi; the eve* open and stared up
at the ceiling. He had trouble focusing, then realised Heffernan was in need
of glasses. To an artist like Fisher, this was disturbing but there was no im-
He flexed the fingers of his right hand, then moved the am
back to lift himself up. It slipped and he fell He took il more slo
wardly got to a sitting position.
Hut could he get up? And if he could, could he walk aroung?
The questions bothered too much for him to think about thi
culalure and nervous system were not changed; only the
trolling them. He had to teach himself to rely on unconscious responses
tomatic to Heffernan's body and he had to do it quickly. He would be no
to Diana if il took him forever to leant to use bis new body.
"What the hell happened to you? "
FUher looked up and saw the man called LoveUsee earning toward him.
80 WnOHOBAFT ft S0R0IBY
"I heard you fall," Uvelace ssk! "AWt she hell did you do?"
"I dozed off and fell out of the chair," Fisher said.
Lovelace gave his head a tiii! ternjiiiiOUiii.hi'fk-. "Might have known."
"Help me up. will you?"
■'Yeah," Uvelace said. He bent down and helped Fisher to his feet.
"Thanks," said Fisher when he was standing. And before bivelacc quite
knew what was happening, Fisher locked one of Heffernan 's huge arms a-
round his neck.
Lovelace flayed his arms savagely, trying to strike Heffernan who was be-
hind him. Fisher applied pressor.:, felt the muscle of the forearm biting in
against Lovelace's windpipe. Fisher gave one final effort and yanked the arm
tight against the other man ■ throat, heard a brief gurgle and felt the man go
limp in his arms. He dropped Lovelace to the floor and let him lay there a
minute while Fisher recovered his own breath. He stared down at the body
and wondered, will I meet this », iSl . i„ ufs. i -. ( litVV Or IWSernan? For be knew
now that this could end only with his own death as well.
He found an empty room and dragged Lovelace into it. Closing the door
he went into the hall and moved to the door of Diana's radio. He found keys
in Heffernan's pocket and am of item OflfXiPd the door.
Diana was seated on the side of Ihe hed, her face drawn, pale with fright.
Kskr- r«i SB ,i :, !Wr l„ hi, lips i;> a ;;csa^ oi <lle ( ,c r . ! 1Wi ~,» sHyiW.s!."
he said. "I've come to gel you out of this."
She looked pleadingly at him and Hie look was reminiscent of Laura. Fisher
crossed the room to the window and looked out. The grounds were empty
and there was no wall or gate. Hot there were bars on the window.
"Ginic on," he said and led her to the corridor.
He had only a vague idea of the layout of the house but he managed to get
her to the garage, which was built on just off the kilchen. There were two
cuts Ifitm imd 3 ,.!,:,U rf-plk:a of a bee:.*; piste , jn ih-ifeit.^'s kev ,:liaie (old
Fisher which ear he had keys for. He handed the keys to Diana and said, "(Jet
out of here. Go straight to lite police and tell ihem what happened."
She started for the car, then slopped and turned back. "I don't understand
any sit this. Why ,;:>.■ yau~ "
"1 haven't time to explain."
"Then will you at leasl tell me who that man is?" That strange looking
man you keep locked up?"
It was the first time Fishet realised Diana had not seen him in
It came as a shock to him and as something of a disappointment
"It's a man named James Fisher," he said,
She said nothing. But the look on her face told him enough; it told him
that .ihe knew who James Fisher was. For a moment she seemed on the verge
"Get out of here," he said. "He's already taken care of. You'll see him
She accepted his lie and got into the car and drove off. Fisher watched her
' : iVis:i?', »uirig ok here?"
Fisher turned and faced Logan,
"That was the girl!" Logan said.
"You don't need her. Let her go,"
"What's got into you? She'll go straight to the cops-." He tried pushing
past Fisher, heading for his cas. Fisher clamped onn of Heffernan's ham-like
hands on lagan's shoulder and spun him around, shoving him back into the
Logan fell sprawling to the floor. He stared up at Heffernan, a look of min-
gled astonishment and disbelief on his face.
"What's got into you? Heffernan, you-''
"Not Heffernan," Fisher said. "Heffernan's dead."
Logan's mouth snapped shut.
"Heffernan's with Case now," Fisher said. "He won 'l be coming back."
"Fisher-," Logan said,
Logan's hand darted into his jacket, Fisher had not guessed he was carry-
ing a gun.
The gun fired once. It's sound, magnified by the closeness of the kitchen
walls, beat on Fieher'e senses «s Si;; pungent acrid odor of the powder stung
his nostrils. Fire stabbed through his middle and spread like shattering glass.
Fisher put a hand to Heffernan's stomach and drew it away, wet and sticky
He fell to his knees and toppled forward, groaning with the pain of it. He
glanced up and saw Logan getting to his feet.
"Ill fix you[" Logan shouted "III fix you!"
He fir? d again and the bullet plowed into IMferMiss shoulder, down into
hil chest, spreading more flaming agony, Fisher could nut hold bark the cry
of pain as Logan truned and ran back into the house. Hut through the clouds
of pain Fisher understood what Logan intended to do.
Heffernan's body was no longer any use to him, H.' abandoned it and l.-ft
it dead and bloody on the floor.
Logan ran to the room where Fisher's body waited and Usher followed
after him. Logan threw open the door and Fisher dived for him. Hut Fisher
moved loo late.
The gun fired twite. Fisher sow the bullets rip holes in the bark of the
chair, saw his inanimate body jerk twice and pitch forward to the carpel.
Logan laughed wildly, like the madman be was. "1 win!" he shouted. "1 fixed
you, Fisher, Really fixed you!"
He drove his own anima down into the shell of Logan's- body, driving the
essence of the eriniinnl out. Logan realized what was happening, tried out jit
fear, thrashed the air uselessly in bis panic
But he eould not stop the Momentary Ghost.
Fisher grappled with that part of Logan that be hated, grappled with it and
threw it from Logan's body. The thing drifted upwards yelping small, fright-
ened sounds that only Fisher eould hear. A rift grew in space to accomodate
the thing and Logan passed through to the Mains of Madness.
For a moment Fisher wore lagan's body. But for a moment only. He
could not continue life in a borrowed body -especially not Logan's. The
moment he feared was upon hiin. No longer was he the momentary ghost
red he <
! say. After
; e to the t
.Strange parasitic flowers dripped caustic oils on the ground and from the
jungle moir cries of wounded things. Case stood there and a chill seemed to
touch him, his first awareness of any sensation of heat or cold since coming
to the afterlife.
He turned. At the clearing's edge was Laura.
Young and beautiful, her face veiled by wind blown hair. After a time he
"Hello," she said, "I've waited for you James. "
"1 was afraid. Afraid uf what I'd done to you."
"You haven't hurt me, James. Not really, I've been lonely, that's all."
"But I have. I know 1 have. I know what happens here. The changes. I
never forgave myseii that. I :*•',« -:ould face up to it, I don't want to see how
yon have thanged."
"look at me."
He wanted to plead with her, to run,to ignore what had happened to her.
Hut he knew he could put this off no longer. He was a ghost for real now with
an eternity in afterlife before him. He went to her and brushed the hair from
It was the same face he remembered. The very same. He took her in his
arms and held her for the first time in twenty years and it was as if they had
never been apart. After a time he kissed her, gently and fervently at the him
lime, u kiss cona lining all the pent-up emotions of two decades.
"You haven't changed," he said. "You haven't,"
"No Jame*. Come with me. I have something to show you."
How long he wandered ihe Plains of Madness he did not know, could not
Bay. Bat after a time he saw lflgan. He saw him, the scattered physical remains
of the man littering a glassy sprit. Diwissetafcifid, scattered parts of him lay a-
boitt the place whining and pleading, asking forgiveness of anything at all.
And all that time the mprcikss [rswe-ty of the sun beat down.
But no change touched the ghost the eternal ghoi-t -of James Fisher.
He wandered among the damned, a pale guaril figure losl and aimless but
not victim to the tortures most of the others felt. .Sometimes he saw others
like himself; but most of the ones he saw were like Uigan or Case or his own
She took his hand and reached out with her other arm. Her hand seemed
■i toueh something -and something parted, fell aside. Space itself. There was a
lit and something lay beyond that rift.
"1 don't understand— ," he began.
She smiled at him. "You've seen only part of afterlife. There's abetter
.She tugged at his hand and led him through the rift. The rift closed after
How Do You Kick Off a New En In Fantasy Reading Pleasure?
DRAGON'S DAUGHTER by E. HOFFMANN PRICE
THE HUNGRY GHOSTS by DAVID A. ENGLISH
THIRST by GERALD W. PAGE
HOW LONELY SITS THE CITY by GLEN COOK
THE PRICE OF A DEMON by GARY BRANDNER
FLIGHT by ROBERT E. HOWARD
GOLA'S HELL by EMIL PETAJA
SILVERHEELS by GLEN COOK
THE GOLD AND THE GREY by ROBERT E. HOWARD
WITCHCRAFT AND SORCERY will feature these and other stories In the
near future, plus such regular features as E. Hoffmann Price's JADE PAGODA
and our DEPARTMENT OF POINTED TALES. They'll be in the company of
other stories by those same writers as well as August Derleth, Ramsey Camp-
bell, Brian Lumley, George Zebrowski, Carleton Grindle, Edmund Shirlan,
Ross Rocklynne and many others. And to top it all off, our stories will be
illustrated by artists such as the Phoenix Award winning Jeff Jones, Hugo
Award winning Tim Kirk, Stephen Fabian, Robert E. Jennings, Steve Fritz,
D. Bruce Berry and Jerry Burge.
Fantasy is back. Newer, more exciting than ever before. WITCHCRAFT
AND SORCERY heralds a new tradition— and you won't care to miss the
TEX HOMKKTABT SHOW
He had to escape and he knew an escape route. But he could
not be certain where escape would lead. . .
by Leon Zeld is
ILLUSTRATION BY BURGE
He came in quite late, that Aaken. He was a lillle bird of a man, perhaps
five feet tall, paunchy, bowlegged, staring with a short, slanted head that grew
out of his body like a misplaced mushroom. There was something deliberate
in his movements. He had an avuncular way of poising himself before taking
the first step, and of standing still in a position suggestive of unstable equili-
He was a Dutch jew. Probably managed to hide himself for a while, but
eventually they caught him and here he was, in the camp with the rest of ub.
By chance, he came to sleep on the bunker above mine, empty since Johannes
was killed by a guard in a Sporting Night. They had played William Tell, that
particular night, if I remember correctly. I don't know exactly the manner of
his death, and 1 don't want to know. Johannes and 1 were friends.
There was little conversation among ub, yet gradually I came to feel a cer-
tain attachment for Aaken. Perhaps it was because he seemed so unable to
cope with the situation in which he found himself. He was not lost, but sunk
in a sea of unfathomable depths, where gravity did not work, where his pre-
vious modes of reference did not apply at all. After a while, he confided brief
snatches of his private life, of what he had been before. Before.
"What I cannot suffer," he said to me once,"is not so much the filth, the
cold, the hunger or the death. They are horrible, but I can understand these
things. They are, in a sense, human. No, they are humane. What 1 can't bear
to watch is humanity debauched and made a mocking earicature of itself. 1
hurt at the deliberate obliteration of beauty."
I did not like him to talk like thai. Partly, I did not understand him, and
partly. I was afraid of somebody else ovcrh raring us. You never knew. "'I will he taken not of
The ficndishness of the guards,"' fir continued, "lies not in their killing shall paint. How I -hall |.aii
i». but in that they will first make us less than human." His voice IrcmUed i
He way an Idealist. I eon Id see that, in the botlom circle of hell, hi- still lean a comforting hand oie
c.iHsidvred nice, imaginary platitudes like humanity and beauty, i tried to "I know, I know." In:
I fmuid out that he IiliH been a painter. Hi* speciality had been making marl, devils, are all differet
aerate epics of old masters for the tourist trade. That, at least, accounted can't eoimnnniraie upvvar,
for his unusual perception of our nightmare. It did not explain his frequent le g you. Soon.'' lie .-to
ftV 'iiud by then become numb, and looked fur ward to nothing, except Without another word,
scavenging for some additional scraps of food. Aaken, on the other hand, still bis way to a dark coiner nl
i l! r a Ir i r II haps hallucinations indued
i; hell, from night to nighl, burning their sweet, soft coal. Still. I had my doubt,
Me drew well, although 1 wasn't then able to admire his hand. I know nu- started to n
ibiiic atAMii (.iiit^isi". Mrv'-fliie.b as, I would -sv iiial iii's drawisa was firm and had been no reported attempt to
r.;<iimr. Hi-JKiasifWiiun was uneanny. Willi a few noes I..- transtiiuted ahand and there, if Hie iicrmaus bad no
' ' , He feared the guards, so he used a private code of hi- took to be Aaken. Yes, it bad the
own. Everyday objects, like a glass, a bowl, a hook, became sinister, evil wasn't Aaken. Kven if I c. !U i«lr. J tr-
illings. " l,,u "" l '"■hifiK to tlie mail I km-
"I waul to rememher." be said to me once. 'The world must he warned. 1 Sim, afterward-, and nut a m
* 1 pitied him. He must have suffered mure keenly than the rest of us. Yet, we did our best to forget what »
he seemed to change, somehow. He withdrew more and more within himself, going to sleep, I would remcml.n
mumble -omethinr. about "the beings" or the "the powers", which I couldn't
begin to understand. 1 tried, out of pity, to lead him hack to the realities a- ■—,. ■-, , «,. ■ -,„.,«, * ,,
round, to the need to gel some more food, to avoid sudden chills, hut he dllt ai d I i
lie was becoming desperate. I could see the signs. He would soon do s-mo- unients, cathedrals, (be I'la-a de
thine foolish, like spitting at a guard, or trying to slide under the barbed ' I I l 1
Of course, I didn't Irv to disuade him. What for'' Some today, some to I'elhsh color., hanging before me.
morrow It was his own life to lose. However. I did talk to him. only to make With unsteady limhs, 1 came c|.
sure that he didn't come u,i willi anything stupid, like selling fire to the '-r- h I I
the group, lo Madri,
Haled by flashes
i. I I I'M d
- I i , i Id i I ' ived although it had So Aaken had made h
later, Honked for oil,
1 found an' open gale. I ea..'l survive here much longer. Now is' the time lo lo which il would" fall,
take the final step through the Dark Door." through his brush.
He stopped for a moment, as if considering whether he had said loo much Who knows? He may
PORTRAIT OF THINGS TO COMB
by Edith Qgutsch
and Ross Rocklynne
ILLUSTRATION BY ROBERT E, JENNINGS
The ideas were coming harrier! Our lai! Todd Ray hum was in a solemn
fret. His mixed-up thoughts aped the clatter flooding in through the open
window of the midtown advertising agency. Traffic honked in his head. Ve-
hicles labeled hope and despair coHided on the intersections of his face. In the
hallway two children laughed. Ah, children' They were only ideas themselves,
created from the old cliche of boy- meets-girl-- yet each one new. Restlessly,
Todd reached for the twisted cord of the electric typewriter which spiralcd
the confusing energies of its dreadful hum throughout his brain. Possibly tin-
poor fellow thought to straighten the cord, which by a sympathetic magic
>uld straighten out his thinking processes. Instead -
Some idea, this wa
-dissolving himself av
now quite empty!
However, here he \
eking himself c
ot only that,
ft the tortured fel
mply field of sun-dried
weeds, as luck would have it.
"Oh, oh, oh!" cried Todd, cowering away from a range of gray hills off lo
the left and swaying in equal shock from a strange grav highway on his right.
Above, a cloudless sky made him a focal point of icy blue. A shrunken yellow
Todd Rayburn Learned Why Men Have Ideas; Only Now the Ideas Had Him
sun had at him wi til daffodil Wis. No birds flew overhead, no inner L or ani "Class;"
mal stirrer! in 111.- burned weeds. "Class A. sir. and vou can see. .-,r. I'm a bright fine indeed, a first magni
The unfortunate voting man, plucked from his own time and place, could (uil<- idea, it v.m please, if yon dou'l mind my calling juiir attention In my
only groan and put'his hands before his eyes. How long would the illusion y.tv obvious qualifications. I 'in here, as yon may press, to rcporl a Slip."
last? No one could tell. Therefor,- with » ihr-ot-mi! dioc on *hH, his heavy "Von are," cried tli<: i-lcrk. ^iffWdrij. a hi I as lie poise! the pencil again, "a
silver chain-nccklacc and medallion glinled. only In match the glint of bravery most talkative idea! Aren't yon ever going I., run down; Must you slaml there
The roari 'wa i> pout loam -rubber, il would seem, and so he vour headlamps al three times the usual caiullcpowcr? Origin!"
spiritedly eon-red three miles in no time at all, whereupon a group of build- The idea, for such it indeed was, stepped forward, its lieadlamp growing
it,*-, rose up heside th? jtrsv hells There were isjrfv factories which looked like even brighter, if that wen- possible. It said eagerly,
large Wricks, and there were Ugly offiw-buildiugs which looked like small half- "Sine von <lo ask. sir, ami not : I beg y o believe, because I am anxious
spheres, Todd Kavburn, however, Hid not have lime to make a judgement a- to brae; about myself, I was aelnally created, not by machine, but in the bead
gainst the architect, whoever he rnighl he, for ju.-t then, praise be, Ihe scene of an eminent anil most rcperled top advertising cm-chHyc. I bat was two
came In life. years ago."
Todd was overjoyed. The idea stepper! back and hung it. head.
A group of Vires marched from one of the factories Thev marched "But alas. I wasr.l really .. welcome ihooghl. The ad man was busy with
straight toward him. other projects. \fler awhile, woe i- me, I -lipped bis mind, and here 1 am!"
Todd was now dismayed! "Vers- much so." fowled the irritated clerk, dashing off a last line of writ-
He had l.i jump quickly off the road to let them pass. Even in the middle ing and thrusting the completed form at the lost idea for its signature
of his hurried jump, which he accomplished with marvelous ease owing to the "Great!" enthused Hie idea, scribbling. The h-adlanip suffused the room
rematkahle springiness of the remarkable foam-rubber road, he was able to with a remarkable hrighln.--.
note the grayness of llie.ir naked bodies, the formless sameness of their fans. "That makes von available again," the clerk said, yawning ami losing inler-
The most curious thin,, about their appearance, however, was a tiny headlight est. "Co on back to Synapse."
secured to the tops of their hairless heads. Willi a jaunty air, the idea swept .-randls out the door, almost knocking
It was a most amazing procession, poor, stunned Todd Rayburn to a silling position on the yellow ground.
The creatures must have seen him as they filed by; if so, they ipnored him. "Wait!" he cried after the speedup idea. I be idea heard him.' and earn e rap-
Anxiously straining his ears, however, our lad picked up a few muttered lines idly, eagerly, back.
"Ah, comrades, well find Synapse Held o'er yon hill, so my brain cell tells ly in the eyes. "Did you want me. sir?"
"Ah dr. declare, Ah'll he overjoyed to find mall proper home 'nealh the idea Hi: em'br .1 1 im_ I I irn h rlv lo his chest. The iilej
magnolia tree, or some such." gasped with surprise, In inyr to pud, Todd away.
"Yeah, yeah man! We're goin" to he thought of" "Stop struggling," Todd polled. "Von should feel nattered I want you."
lW,i by this astonishirc: .nb: rebate. Todd Hayhurn r:ould only stare lie continued struggling with the idea.
from feverish eyes as thev rlisappeared around a bend in the grav hills. Then, "lint that isn't the way lo do it, *ir! Here, look into my headlight. Imagine
tottering a hit, liis band clutching at bis medallion as if he could sel lo rest the a hrillia.it ligh! in vour brain, hanging there in a kind of balloon. Thin', you've
sickly throb in his solar pleMis. he approached the open door of the factory got it, sir. Already I'm beginning to dwindle."
whence the creatures came. And it was true. As the soft grav hoih shrank in on itself, a rewarding hell,
Todd stooped onlv a little to enter the (aelorv, ihe pound of the machines ness filled Todd's mind. "Wow '." he cried, smacking his lips as the idea totally
swelling in his car even before he came, to the working area, and helpfully climbed inside lion, lie nibbed his hands in brisk satisfaction.
"Ah!" cried Todd Rayburn, transfixed. The size of the machines was fan- So that's why lie was hire: Now lo get hack to his own world,
taslie. "Oh no!" lie groaned unbelievingly, hands thrown up. He had never How would he get hack; Return, of course, lo Ihe field where he made his
seen such shapes before. "Oh. my:" he gasped, almost ready to run from the entrance. That seemed tin- logical thin,- to do. lb walked rapidly in Ibis dirrc-
was busv manufacturing the creatur* who or Ihe road <""' ■> l'il»'-ss eve of sky. for the nmmcnl. however, the voting man from
Yes. it was absolutely true. Humming and dirking, the vast machines h '«lh was full of enthusiasm, determination, and a wonderful idea' Oh, the
i ( < I ' I
steam and pressed „ small headline. ! «ik. the '.i;;iv naked h™,:l. Where the band Huh, be grunted to himself, who's talented'' Worry now started gnawing
disappeared into Ihe floor, the beings stepped away and remained standing his conscience. Thief, thief: f Time doesn'l pay! Murder will out: ('.beat, cheat,
iiap»e Field. " ' away from his delegable self,
tint who ran the machines? Todd raised his eves ami thought hi' saw linv Suddenly, without wartime he was bit as if bv a cyclone. Three hurtv fig-
human figures near the vast ceiling. Slowly he walked backward, toward ihe ures threw him lo (he ground and proceeded lo punish him. Hard fists crashed
exit. His presence probably was a profane event, anil he had no-intention of into hi- chest, pounded his luck, and bounced him against the pound. Todd
plained terror, he retraced his slops, ' at last. Ihe young fellow collapsed ■ I !( ,
disphasun Ih, sky wa- .till I I i idll '" * building marked Personnel."
forces here'; At this moment, a solitary j£Mi hM* :-pee,l,:J from tlu: distance. \ irausluccicc worked through Todd's struggling eyelids, lie was standing,
bouncing spiritedly down the foam-rubber road, It walked |^n<"sc.ullv to- or heine held creel. „n a floor like skimmer! milk, and Ihe walls, curving into
ward a small office building, its headlamp burning brightly. a dome; were made of Ihe same material. The continuous now of walls inlo
I'or whatever reason unknown al the moment to young To 'd riavburn. he eeilinelcnt the hall an illusion of v.,sliios. S<d| indireel lighting fell on the men
was fascinated l.v the intensity of the creature's beam. Indeed, , ■ felt a shock- ,-,ulcd m the center of the rolumla. Thev wee eonleiuplating a globe which
ing lust for that brilliance. His eyes glittered, his inolllll snarled. He tiploed spin, [ |ireelly beneath ihe Moor and when Todd was dragged nearer to them
after Ihe being, but arrived at the small one-room office building just in time they looked'up. His captors pushed him forward for inspection, fjgbt pairs of
to keen the door from hanging shut. eves regarded him thoughtfully. As oil. lads eyes opened all Ihe way. he sick-
He looked through to a desk. There, behind ihe desk, sat a very ordinary is'hlv noted lllai the globe was a model „f I'.artb. a very remarkable likeness.
blank eyes, poised a pencil, and hundred: ' Todd's surprise, lie smiled cordially.
THE IDEAS 25
tead for im<? A mi*
rablc Einprlst.Hnwftl ir
man who allow
"Hair.' I'm the cr
ator of those ideas?"
"Oh, oh. oh:" P
fd Todd. ■'I'm a hi'll
r man III,
struggled in hi* rxo
lenient to rise in his
-liair: il w.
s in i
in. He fiiuld d.
i hut lliill.
and fuat tt when j
i probably aros
from the friction «>
the dissatisfied stole
round irtsitlf- hi
al's our biggest problem. "You want to go free?" Todd asked the idi-a.
I have to get back to the go. Punch me out of 111, machine. It'-ca-y. Von hit a yellow key and a black
■■- I In- idea back to vou. make sure I'm -vnchronous in -pace ami lime. Ill (ro. sir, I'll neves- double
von again. I'll flv'like a bir.l to .Sy,,ap-e Field and grab myself ,i nice hit brainy
■Hut it's oi.il nf tin- i f ucs- advertisinECxeeutive. on,- wlioll -meat me on In, bread to sec how 1 spread "
"Yon am talkative," remarked Todd liavburn. ".-ihul up. we both want to
hling, Todd was dra Sg(i( | grt (llll u( llm , n | lnakt . ., j,.,,^,, ^n, v(lll . |'|| puneb yon out of the ma-
Todd explained what i.c wanted. The idea was diiiriou-. It rolled and bloat-
■aplors, speaking for the ( . d l]I1( , 0m f (jrtal) |j. ;„ r, M |d\. brain. Todil would he quite happy when he was
rid of thai diBiitfv.-ssIf!'' lo.iuac.ious idea. In any event the bargain was made,
n through the rear entrance of Tod(| h „ d '„,„ ,;„, ,., ,;,,^. !v k( . vs alu] t(l| , idt!a J^^d i,„ t a,it|y out of
'■"■»''"■"- '"* throne t |„ madlil „. ' "
omingoul. Thr it |,. a sUvt , d 0|] th( , strip uriti | it ,.,.,,,;,.,.,; Us headlamp, at which mo-
r, l..p oi (r..- oiily mne.ive idea r,-is<:h.fif ai! d toe,, R , t , ni u , Fj ,.;,,„ ljf ^ ,, iK j r<i( „ ji]v ( .| Lm!je( j ,;„. , : ,,: C ; M „ ( . , !!k , l^dd's
e operator's chair. Mi- feel were shackled firmly, cll(jidlJ . '
j-ted abonl his bead: silver wires in turn led into "You're not .-nidi a bad fellow," the idea panted, "and ynu might have a
of the men, pressing various colored studs as he jn „ wj) , j gain-t the panel.
ipulate the pane!. "You'll soon eel the idea. See "Maybe you and I can make a deal, "the idea said as the panel turned into
'odd threw curse.- aller them steadily for (en mill- Todd L
1 slarled toying with, the colored studs. It was real- and reappeared at his won desk at his own electric typewriter. Sitting across
watching ideas fall oul of the machine. The gears from him, legs crossed, was the gray soft form of Ihc idea, which now reached
Mmm it ai j give me an idea. Yes, sir, I'm
bodies moved down the strip. As they readied the kind of idea that ireli ideas, as you can see bv mv headlamp! I'm so brilii-
piirklmg headlight- were s,-t into their bald heads ant, sir, such a ("iradcOrie, Class A idea, sir, that'it occurred to me I could he
door. 3 Si.>*!otsat Siini'i-e i>i lir'ljj ;nd iiispiciijon to yon in ill your hours of need -
from his helniel into the machine -and what were "Oct l.;st." laid Tod:] -lowly. "1 don't need anv idea- that aren't mv own.
I'm ipdlc full of ideas. H .-member.'"
uirmed. grew like a balloon in hi- head, lie had The idea nodded gloomily and rejcctedly and l.de.i -rw leavinga lungful
oleii idea; ,o had hi* captor-. of -moke liungitig IVagrantlv in the air. Todd iilhii+ed his typewriter, really
Led sharply, -mashed into it. In the next three weeks his work was drawn to the Mvxkm
of lure." the stolen idea whimpered. It was speak- of hi- thoughtful superior. Within a year our hid, young Todd tUvburn, who
I didn't bargain for *i\ hundred years imprison- wisely kept to himself the story of his inspirit advi-niures in the world of the
lianl idea. Mow could you do (hi- to me/.' Uisould j *-.«*, wfts „.,.|! on ihc i,s»- and de.erveillv so!-lo the very top of bis chosen
I he flagpole to see how I wave. Instead, what is a- profession.
SO WHOSE OPINION COUNTS... ?
. . . The editor's or the readers'? The editor selects the stories, of courts, »nrl
bases his selection on his judgment. But the readers' opinion is final. If you don't
like the magazine, you stop buying il. If enough people stop buying it, the maga-
zine goes out of business. We value your opinion and hope you'll talte the time
to fill out the Readers' Poll Coupon on pages 63 and 6*. Your ratings will tell ul
what we're doing right and wrong.
But, of course, if you don't want to eut up the magaiine we Still have the highest
regard for your opinions. Send us your story ratings on a postcard — or better yet
send us a letter with your comments on this issue. We plan to keep a tally of the
results and list the most popular stories and features in a coming issue.
More importantly, we plan on basing future decisions on 3
— Tht Editor
WITCHCRAFT & SOROEHY
Howard Phillips Lovecraft (1890-1937) was not only the author of such
brilliant macabre stories as "The Dunwich Horror" and "The Colour Out of
Sparc'' but the author as well of scores of the most fascinating letters ever
penned. August Derleth and Donald Wandrei have assembled Selected Letters
by H.P. Lovecraft of which the first two volumes have been published at $7.50
each by Arkham House (Sauk City, Wisconsin 53583) with the third volume
due perhaps by the time this magazine appears. The following four letters are
from the forthcoming fourth mlume and were written to ('lark Ashton Smith
during 1932 and 1933
This was a period when the writing of horror fiction in America was at a
relative height, with several ready market?, for well-done weird stories includ-
ing Weird Tales, edited by Farnsworth Wright, and Strange Tales, edited by
Hurry Hates (who would later write the classic science fiction story "Fare.weH
to the Master'".) Lovecraft was busy not only with his own fiction, but with
revising sUariv./i far roientSi'.f.n fVs* raiahlishud writers, including Rev. Henry S.
Whitehead. His correspondents included most of the best known fantasy writ-
ers of (hi- period, including Robert E. Howard, August Derleth, Frank Belknap
hmgand E. Hoffmann Price.
Four Letters to Clark Ashton Smith
To Clark Ashton Smith
In the orange, carmine, and blue-litten
zone at the end of the Angles . . . beyond the vague twilight a-
bysses. Hour of the sounding of (he gong at the bottom of the
. i.6. W32
The only basic trouble with premature bruial tales is that
they do not take into account the universal practise of embalm-
ing. The way to get around that, of course, would be to provide
very particular reasons why embalming is dispensed with in the
Yrs. in the nameless sodality of Nyarla-
To Clark Ashton Smith
Leaden hillside of Pnapf on the green—
litten planet Hchah in Dimension IN ; hour of the voice and vapor
from the bottomless cleft.
March 2, 1932
Copyright 3 970 by August Derleth and Donald Wamlrei-by pet
mission of Arkham House.
Dear Klarksah-Ton: —
I liave a sort of time idea of very simple nature floating a-
round in the back of my head, but don't know when I shall ever
get around to using it. The notion U that of a race in primal Lomar
perhaps even before the founding of Olathoe and in the heyday
of Hyperborean Commoriom— who gained a knowledge of all arts
and sciences by sending thought- streams ahead to drain the minds
of men in future ages-angling in time, as it were. Now and then
they gel hold of a really competent man of learning, and annex
all his thoughts. Usually they only keep their victims tranced for
a short time, but once in a while, when they need some special
piece of continuous information, one of their number sacrifices
himself for the race and actually changes bodies with the first
thoroughly satisfactory victim he finds. The victim's brain then
goes back to 100,000 B.C. -into the hypnotist's body to live in
Ixmiar for the rest of his life, while the hypnotist from dead aeons
animates the modern clay of his victim. Complications can be i-
magined. I have no idea how-or from what angle-I shall elabo-
rate the thing.
Yrs. for ultimate abysses,
To Clark Ashton Smith
Yoth-Tlaggon - at the Crimson Spring
Hour of the Amorphous Reflection.
Apr. 4, 1932
Dear Klarkash-Ton: —
I'm now helping Whitehead prepare a new ending and back-
ground for a story Bali* ha™ r^jt-eii'd. The original told of a young
man who humped his head and thereafter heard sounds as of a
mighty cataclysm, although the city around him was quiescent.
It was supposed to be due to a result of the bruise— which made
the fellow's head a natural radio and enabled him to hear the Jap-
anese earthquake— which was occuring at the time. Bales rightly
thought this tame, so I am having the cataclysm and its cause
somewhat different. I am having the bruise excite cells of heredi-
tary memory causing the man lo hear the destruction and sink-
ing of fabulous Mu 20, 000 years ago!
Yrs. for the nether sign
To dark Ashton Smith
Shores of the Black Uke Tlai
Time of the Moonless Tide and the
Rising of .
Feby. 18, 1933
Dear Klarkash-Ton: -
Price has dug up another cycle of actual folklore involving
an allegedly primordial thing called The Book of Dzyan, which
is supposed to contain all aortB of secrets of the Elder World be-
fore the sinking of Kusha (Atlantis) and Shalarali (Lemuria.) It
is kept at the Holy City of Sham ball ah, and is regarded as the
oldest book in the world— its language being Senior (ancestor .of
Sanscrit,) which was brought to earth 18,000,000 years ago by
the Lords of Venus. I don't know where E. Hoffmann got hold
of this stuff, but is sounds damn good. . .
Yrs. for the Pnakotic Secrets—
WnCROBUT A BOBOEBY
A Tourist Guide to Haunted Houses and Unexplained Mysteries-
New England— New York
by Andre Notion
HEADING AND ILLUSTRATION
BY ROBERT E. JENNINGS
Though one is inclined to think of haunted houses, in explainable mysteries,
sb being British and European rather than native to this side of the Atlantic,
even the most limited research will provide the seeker with a list of such sites
to visit. New England and New York have them in plenty.
Begin at Machiasport, Maine, where the first recorded American ghost made
herupsetting appeal -siv:£, lv<M sjraciosis sscstin:^ with many spectators, staged
special perform an ees for the skeptic, and ended by arranging a new marriage
for her bereft husband!
In the house of Aimer Blaisdel (much to his subsequent discomfort) Nelly
Butler first made her return known on the night of January 2, iHOO, when
she asked that her father be summoned to speak with her. Since Nelly had
been safely in Iter grave for some time, this situation nts, delicate. Yet David
Harper, her father swore it was Nelly he spoke with. Sha made several appear-
ances during the following months, mainly hi the teller, because, as she ex-
plained, she had no wish to frighten the children of the house,
Abraham Cummings, pastor of the Congregational Church, coming as a
skeptic, went away a convert. Later he was to set hi= story, together with
those of others, in the first known published account of an American ghost.
The ghost made herself visible not only to members of the Blaisdel family
(who came to look upon her cottiinueti visitations as a curse because of the
notoriety) but showed herself to the many curious visitors attracted by the
tales. In addition she urged marriage between her former husband and Lydia
Blaisdel. When the censorious gossips suggested that Lydia herself might be
responsible for such an odd proposal, Nelly considerately appeared when
Lydia could not have possibly acted the part.
Having achieved her purpose Nelly finally left the exhausted Blaisdels and
the overwrought neighborhood in peace. But she was not to be forgotten.
Pass on to Kennebunkpnrt, to the ghost house now part of the theater
holdings. ,We are told that the attic is the focal point of the haunting, as well
aathe second floor front bedroom. Though old lady Wells, a herbal wise worn-.
an, lived the. last twenty years of her life in that room, dying at the age of a
hundred and twenty-four, she is not the "good grey ghost." That is another
"Nelly", a woman wearing Quakoi garb, SOTnKtimcS sr--wripanie.fi by "Ned".
her male counterpart. Their history is unknown, but Mill they peer from win-
dows or walk the night.
Wiscasset next, and the I-cc-PaysoihSmith house on High Street. The old
lady who appears when the family is nut there, rocking in the front parlor,
is reputed to he of the family of Govcmer .Samuel K. Smith who bought the
house in 1836 (it was built in 17 n 12). There is a dour also, leading to a wing
since burned, where a dog scratches for entrance (he is said to have hern the
only companion of a recluse who once lived in the vanished wing). But the
old ladv who sits in the parlor with gentle satisfaction conns. Ihev sky. be-
cause having suffered man? grevious family losses, in the end she had' only the
house to love. She docs not intrude, she just wants to lie home.
The old Shaw Place at Ncwficlii lias good reason to be haunted if ever a
house did. for Hannah, a daughter of the house, is buried within its walls, her
tombstone a corner of the kitchen floor. One of the rare instances of such
Yet the same is true of the famous house of Ocean Born Mary al Henniker,
New Hampshire. Mary's story is fabulous enough to be fiction, siifl il is rooted
in fact. It begins on July 28t'h of (he vrar ! W). IV ship Wolf bearing Scotch-
Irish emigrants to the new world was in sight of Ihe Massachusetts coast when
it was overhauled by pirates. Captain James Wilson, without any defenses,
had to stand by helplessly when Captain Don Pedro and his men hoarded.
The Captain's plight was doubly painful at that moment for his wife was in
child-birth in his cabin.
In fact the arrival of the pirates was heralded by the wail of the new horn.
Don Pedro, demanding to know the source of the cries, was visibly affected
when told. He straightway asked that the Captain's new daughter be given
the name "Mary", and when this was agreed to, ordered his men off the Wolf.
Howeve-r, he returned agi
bracelet, a kngth of fitir
other gift items from his loot.
Don Pedro kepi in touch with Mary through the years, and when he came
to retire after what was reputed a fruitful cares-!-, lie decided to build a home
near Haniiiker, importing ships" rsrp>:iiiir«fi for the tusk. Mary married at
eighteen, Willi a family of four sons and a daughter, hari recently left a wid-
ow. And Don Pedro sent for her as a housekeeper. In due time he died, and,
according to legend, lies buried under the hearth stone in his house, which
he left Mary and in which she lived until she wos ninety- four. Also, according
to rumor Don Pedro was stabbed to death by those seeking the gotd he had
brought with him, and only Marv knew the secret of its hiding place. Thai
she guards; at least, by a wealth of stories, she has from Lime to time appeared
Mew Hampshire does not i te it also bad one
of the major historical mysteries of the east in Paltec 's Caves, now known as
Mystery Hill, near North Salem.
Does this crumbling range of rocky walls represent tile remains of a Phoe-
nician-Carthaginian settlement? In 335 B.C. Aristotle in his list of one bun-
seas land which the Phoem, iai ' r I because of trade. His de-
took ship and hi
and then ran into such strom
trig him ashore on one of th
game. As for the foreigners
crawl out of the pounding
thrown bark again.
However, at that particuh
asl?d aSujiK K.tijflaiid and SeutlamS,
,» 5 it ship Nidi noMacsd !.eW.\ dtiv-
d Faeroes. Wrecked ships were fair
belli. i[ thi-y **-«rr hiupid < s n'«igh to
eked on the head and
is knights ar
Uut r..ie« «!"
y Hill. Though unfor
k looting Prinee Henry am
survivors. Which was an ex
luck for all concerned. Prince Henry was trying to build a na
island holdings, and in Nicealo tie frHHifJ the commander he
looking for. So pleased was Niccolo with the profits of such
that he wrote home and urged his kc-iher Antonio to join hirr
But there was one idea wheh had !<«* fsauniitert the Prinee. Years earl
one of his fisherman subjects with a boatload of his fellows hari been bio'
far off course and ended on the beaches of an unknown western count:
There he had been well treated, but upon voyaging farther south with the t
lives, he and his friends had beer. i'.:< ;ffi u.-.-j by a new tribe who were can
hals. The fisherman purchased bis life hy showing them bow to weave fi
nets, and because of his knowledge he became a tribal treasure, several tin
wrest from one set of captors to the nest, always to the south. After .ho:
weary years he managed to work his way north and to his original landf;
There he built a boat and finally regained his homeland.
'■mined" constantly ft
sight :: iniejiif ni hundred years ago. litt
mlatinn. It has
Megalithie stonework cif Europe and the
altar in proper proportions for human sacrifice, with speaking tube arrange-
ment through which voice* may be eerily projected.
Not only the Phoenicians are pven wik tor some of the features nearby.
There are a number of structures. *hi,:h resemble very closely the beehive
dwellings of the Celi Dei, the Celtic Irish Christians who fled first to the
Orkneys, then to Icelandand even to Greenland, always in fear of the Vikings.
They had reached Iceland in 874, before the first Viking settlement there.
And when the first long ship nosed into hark.; at Greenland in $86, the men
..mi Ivwil fmjfid rcc-esitiv absjndiisw-H Mi Dei d*t-lhn« ceils. [M !.htv cufise t...
the American erajtfrtant, dKevur the toriff abandoned settlement of stone
walls at North Salem, and settle there awhile in uneasy peace?
Massachusetts also has such a mystery. The Sinclair Rock is indeed most
provocative. One can find it at Westford where it may have existed since
about 1400. But the tale begins in the Orkneys at the court of Prince Henry
Sinclair of Rosslyn, Earl of Orkney, and Ciathness, Lord of Lhe Faeroes. And
in those days, I-390, th* Faetoes were less than hospitable, as we discovered
by Niccolo Zeno of Venice.
Inspired by the same wanderlust which sent Marco Polo east, young Niccolo
80 WITOHOBAFT & B0R0EEY
Prince Henry was excited about the land oversess, But, though Niccolo
was fired by his enthusiasm, their fisherman guide died before they could plan
to embark.' Determined, Prince Henry sent hU lien seuuiisig ship, commanded
by Niccolo, which made a landing ii Greenland and returned safely. However
Niccolo came home ailing and died within the year.
It was not Antonio who look his brother's place in the proposed expedi-
tion. In the summer of 1395, Prince Henry himself with a force of his guard,
set out to the west. They made several landfalls of which Antonio kept a rec-
ord Then they lost one ship and Prince Henry decided to remain for a while,
sending back half of his men with Antonio. The return voyage was made in
safety and Antonio returned to Venice. His account was kept in his family
and finally published in 1558,
But what happened to Prinee Henry? We know that he was again in the
Orkneys for his death there in 1404 is a matter of history.
So the Sinclair Rock. Marks supposed ot be of Indian origin were later
definitely found to be the outline of a fourteenth century sword. This known,
the rock was cleaned-to discover on it the outline of a six foot knight in ar-
mor, not only enui;efd with tb'< * weird n, (jitesn'on, hut also with a shield hear-
ing the heraldic insignia of the Sinclairs.
Since one of the landfalls described by Antonio has been indentified with
s point in Novs Scotia, h«! rise Prince pefhsp? Witt 3 ship, nos?d southward
along the coast before he started home? Is one of hie knights buried some-
where near the rock so unmistakably marked?
Though no knight walks here lo regret his long exile, there is a ehost very
much at home in the Huntington. House at Hadley. This dwelling was built ill
1752, hut its proud owner did not enjoy it for long. On September 8, 1755,
he was killed in an Indian ambush. A fried Jiv Indian returned his sword lo his
wife, traditionally passing it through one of the windows of a lower room.
Since that day someone seems to sleep in the fourposlercd bed beneath the
e bed from
•shows the i
of a light body. There are foowteo* heard ending to the attic. Children ai
often visited in their rooms. A friendly ghost,
Cohasset seemingly has a ghost who resents ehange and would make it
known. The Ships 1 Chandlery, built in the late Seventeenth century by the
Bales family, was later the property of John Rates who alto o ( wned a fishing
fleet and was a most substantial citizen. But when the old building was moved
from the water front in I "57 to bee o me a museum, the trouble began. Heavy
footsteps were heard, doors opened and closed. It would seem that lohn
Bates, is not at all satisfied, if the disturber of the peace is John, with the
Rhode Island may have ghosts, but it also gives earth room to one of the
most talked of of all American mysteries, the Newport Tower, Though it is
claimed that this was built in the seventeen!!! iXFMofy as a mill, several of the
premises on which this claim rests have since been proven false. Such as the
Plowden Paper granting the land lo the Plowdens in 1632, quite a while before
the tower was suppor-irdly built, and yet making mention of it.
So we ran return lo 112! when the Pope appointed Bishop Eric Gynupsson
to the See of Greenland and Vineland, the recently discovered laud to the
. Bishop fiy!i«|j:iS"jR > sppohilmei't. records exist to this day
■ if! V'hl
deventh century, Iteid the Severe, king of thai
lfltl.1, look a fleet of ships to cross the Ajlanlif. The fetorfls thereafter are ob-
scure. That Harald was moved to make such an expedition at all argued he
had good cause. And there is speculation thai he did establish A trading post
colony, which he preferred, as many others have done, So keep a secret.
But what has Ibnld'e possible colony and the Bishop got to do with a
lower on Rhode Island? Just this-that the tower itself so follows the pattern
of Christian churches of Scandanavia of that period that if it stood anywhere
else it would be instantly hailed as such. Also, the windows in it are so set that
they can be used for signalling and lookout lo the sea, not to the land-a
watch tower for a port.
So do we have the oldest church on this soil in Rhode Island? Aerial photo-
graphs recently taken disclose odd lines under the turf, perhaps further explo-
ration might prove the truth one way or another.
New York .Slale and Gtv seems to favor Revolutionary ghosts. There are
iht: "sit.-" on.-, ^.ci-.as the headless soidu-s who is said io 5j»p;ar out of a rw:k
crevice at midnight on Watch Hill in Yorklown Heights. And the pitiful ones
t the terrible massacre of Cherry Valley with sounds of shots,
!r. ! %v> Yurfc Cih ir.sr.ff is the famed Moms-Jutiisl K^„r, »hich is aj>»er-
ently well occupied by a shade. Built in 1765 by Lt-Coloncl Roger Morris, it
passed into other haod's in I Tlti. the Colonel, a Tory, withdrawing to England
at the close of the war. In the interim it had successively served as headquar-
ters for both General Washington and Sir Henry Clinton,'
Madam Jumcl herself was ,i figure out of gothic romance. Bom in the slums
of Providence, her beauty and determination brought her a husband, Captain
de la Criox, and a short visil lo France, Having shed the husband during her
travels, she returned to her native land and Steven Jumel, a refugee from the
slave rising in Santo Domingo, where he had been a planter. However, Jumel
adapted well to the change and made a fortune in his new homeland as a wine
Eliza, his mistress, played the finest role of her checkered career in 1800.
Posing as being on her death bed, she persuaded Jumel to marry her. Her re-
But her past closed the doors she wanted to open and she returned to a lonely
life at the manor. After a questioned death of her husband, she increased his
iised the first four lsauea o
mft.r 1889. "Rock God" by Harlan
er" by Wylly Folk St. John; others.
nr» 1870i "Lconal" by Alan CaUI
fortune by shrewd dea
and he was in hfe seven
time vice-president, he
, enough to buy herself, when she was fifty-eight
, Aaron Burr for a new mate. Though he was one
s now thoroughly discredited, and their marriage
Though Madam Jumel surrounded herself with the children of her sisters,
her W.csinesss was legend, she was nwi resin' cd hv ihf socii-si shs craved.
And, according to report, she has not left the house wherein she lived for so
long. One recent story has her scolding children, brought as a class lo view the
house, for their noisy btdisvjos .
The Jumel Manor is not the only New York house to he favored by Aaron
Burr, though he sseret= %o preicr this sscond dwidliriE fnr his ghostly visits
more than the first. At I jndenwald near KinderhcH,k, in the Washington Irving
country, he has been seen, wearing a mulberry vi-ltfS s-o;ii and a ruffled shirl.
He shares this estate with a second and perhaps a third ghost. One of these
was b i.vriiie? presidd! i, an ufficc Bur: reached 'mi but tievr'i achieved.
Built in 1797 by Judge William Peter Van Ness whose son William was
Burr's second in the lalal duel v.i!.h Ates.ii;id<:i KatniUoti, l.indenwald is sup-
po-^ii to K*vf sheltered Burr isecrrliriv dttritis the linji: hr. was hein| htintcil
for what was deemed murder.
Ijslcr the house was bought and remodeled hv Martin Van Buren, eighth
President, when his term of office was completed. It was during the Utter
tint*; that "Aunt Harah" presided in lb- kitchen. So famed w»s she foe he;
riancekts that she was an ndd.-.i! aitraeiiiifi ioi cueHs. (inly ir seem* dipt she
intended to continue to rule the kitchen, even after dealh.as the scent of her
ironkifig, to be stuffed how sml aeaitf today. ti>t.ifjf* IW.r- u|>'i» and .■■his;
without reason, then- is s viuhn hewd playing, arid ftrt'Utep* :>u;snd. Burr, the
President, Aunt Sarah -all are S'ljmo'.f A. to Aii'l inek'- I iridenwald their home.
In Albany stands Cherry Hill on South Pearl Street. On May 7th, 1K27 this
was the site of a murder which t**ms Hi he redacted in part through the years
John Whipple, manager for the Van Rensse.i art* who owned the properly, was
shot through the window by his wife's lover. Jrssp ::;«;;?. as he confered with
Ids employer over accounts. Nowdays, someone unseen paces the terrace-
Sfrat!£ awaithsg ids victim? Who knows?
Fort Ontario, Oswego, has two ghosts by report. One : a tombstone can be
seen in the military cemetary. George Fyk*s, in British uniform of Revolution-
ary times, was known to appear once to every new garrison at the fort, the
reason for this strange welcome lost in time. While sentries walking at number
two post there in the past have found themselves awesomely accompanied by
a light shining over their heads, though e<plauation for this manifestation has
- vo it.
addition, a ghost train whirl
long the Harlem division of the New York Central. It is in two parts, both
drawn by old fashioned wide smoke-stacked engines of Ihe 19lh century, both
are draped in black. Though no engineer nor fireman appears, the first section
carries passengers of a sort. Mounted on one of several flat rare a band of skel-
etons play their instruments. The second section carried a draped coffin moun-
ted on a single faltcar. As the train approaches a dark carpet seems to unroll
before it, and clocks along the way stop from five to eight minutes. The date is
significant for it was just at this time of year that Ijncoln's funeral train
moved westward hearing the martyr president to his last home. Is Lincoln's
ttisft) eve; to be engaged in their n:i.>urnft:i journey.'
I'kis is hot ) rrtvslerv itnrns-therir arc many
more. Research will njiiMr- ihf w. iu jd be ghost hunter to make out a well
haunted itinerary. Such books as the following are eseeljenl sources:
Boland, Charles Michael THEY ALL DISCOVERED AMERICA
Holand, Hjalmar EXPLQRA TIONS 111 AMERICA ItEFORE COLUMBUS
Holier, Hans- YANKEE CHOSTS
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"Men Say You Move Through Life Like One of the fates, Dark Agnes.
Unmoved, Unchangeable, Potent With Tragedy and Doom, and
That the Men Who Ride With You Do Not Live Long "
by Robert E. Howard and Gerald W. Page
ILLUSTRATION BY JEFF JONES
Ahead of me in the dark alloy, steel dashed and a man tried oul aa men
cry only when death- a trio ken. Around a comer of the winding way three
mantled ahapes aun-i fit luting, blindly, as men run in panic and terror. I drew
back against the wall to 1ft them go past, and two crowded by me without
even seeing me, breathing in hysterica) gasps; hul the third, running with hie
chin on hie shoulder, blundered full against me.
He shrieked like a damned soul, and evidently deeming himself attacked,
grappled me wildly, tearing at me with his tenth like a mad dog. With a curse I
broke his grasp and flung htm Iran me against the wall, but the violence of
my exertion caused sty iooc to slip in ■/. puiMk mi iht skiues, and I stumbled
a phantom out of" the deeper darkness. The light of a distanl
gleamed dully on his morion and the sword lifted above my head. I barely
hs.4 haw; Uj ;Hi»j the sSfokc; Miiiikh fiew aa out str.d m*:t, and I returned the
stroke with J tliniat of such violence that my point drove through teeth and
neck and rang against the lining ttf his st*;>:! head-pieee.
Who my attacker* were I knew not, hut there was no time for parley or ex-
planation. Dim figures were upon me in the semi-darkness and hlades whick-
ered about my head. A .tlrok~ tii.tt ciajigsd full upon my morion filled my
eyes with sparka of fire, and abandoning lit' point in my extremity I hewed
right and left and heard men grunt and eurw as 1115 sword s edg* g<1Eih#d tllEJIX
Then, as I stepped hack to avoid a swiping eut, my foot caught in the cloak of
the man I had killed, and I fell aprawling over the corpse.
There w* a Csfti' t:.rv uf ttiuronli, ami one ,™-s«£ forward, >.wOi'd liilf-d-
biit ere he could strike or I could lift my hlade above my head, a quick step
sounded behind me, a dim figure loomed in the uncertain light, and the down-
ward aweeping hlade rang on a award in mid-air.
"Dog!" quoth the stranger with curious accent. "Will you strike a fallen
The other roared and cut at him madly, hut by thai time 1 waa on my feel
again, and as the others ;>rese«i> in, I met them with point and edge, thrusting
and alaahing like a demon, for I was wild with fury at having been in such a
plight aa the stranger rescued me from. A side-lung glance showed me the lat-
ter driving his sword through the body of the man who opposed him, and at
this, and aa I pressed them, drawing blood *:i eavh si.roke. the rogues gave way
and fled fleetly down the alley.
I turned then to my unknown friend, and saw a lithe, compactly-miilt man
but little taller than myself. The glare of the distant cresset fell dimly upon
him, and 1 saw that he was e|nd in fine Cordovan hoots and velvet doublet,
beneath which I glimpsed 3 glint of fi.ie rn«b~fitait. A tine crimson cloak was
flung over his shoulder a li-iilln'red cisp <m his "head, ami licneath this his eyes,
colct and l)(iM. daiicrt) r<??.t!«s»ly His fe;>-. was- clears-stavef! and brown, ssilh
high cheek bones and thin lips, and there wet!: acarn that hinted of an adven-
turous career. He bore himself with something of a swagger, and his every
action betokened si
I thank you, my friend," ipoth I. "Weil for me Sh*t vol) came at the mo-
ment which vou did."
"Zounds!" cried he. "Think naught of it. Twas mi more than I'd have
done for any man-but, Saint Andrew! You're .1 woman!"
There being no reply to that, I cleaned my hlade and sheathed it, while he
gaped at me open-mouthed.
"Agnes de U Fere!" he said slowly, at length "It can he 110 other I have
heard of you, even in Scotland. Your hand, girl! I have yearned to meet you.
Nor is it an unworthy thing even for Dark Agnes to shake the hand of John
(grasped his hand, though in sooth, I had never heard of him, feeling steely
thews in his fingers and a cjuick nervous grip that I old me of a passionate, hair
"Who were these topics who soiieiit yooT life?" he asked.
"I have many enemies," I answered, "hul I think these were mere skulking
rosiiei, f-'.sbiK'ft and >nsirii«r<:es. They ivefo |>tii-suir.i; three :»•::'. and i th:rJi.
tx\> (1 to i"jt my liir.ijit to hush my tongue."
"Likelv enough," quoth he. *T saw three men in black mantle., flee out of
the alley mouth as ihough Satan were at their heels, which aroused my curio-
sity, so I came to see what was forward, especially as 1 heard the rattle of
steel. Saint Andrew 1 Mess said your *%ord- j.'!a.> was like, summer lightning, and
it is even as they said! Rut let us see if She rouses have indeed fled or are
iiierciy hifkiiij beyond thai i.'ft.oi. I o slab '■',• in sin- fcaek an we liqiiirt."
He stepped cautiously around the crook and swore under his breath.
'■They are gone, in sooth, but I see .something lying in the alley. I think it
is a dead man."
Then I rememberer! the cry 1 heard, and I joined him. A few moment, la-
ter we were bending over two forms that lay sprawled in the mud of the alley.
One was a small man, mantled like the three who had fled, but with a deep
gash in his breast that had let out his life. Hut as I spoke to Stuart oil the mat-
ter, he swore suddenly. He had turned the other man on his back, and was
staring at him in suprise.
"This man has been dead for hunts," quoth he. "Morover he dieil tint by
sword or pistol. Look! See his features how they are swollen and purple* It is
the mark of the gallows! And he is clad still in the gibbet-shirt. By Saint And-
rew, Agnes, do you know who this is?" And when 1 shook my head, "It is
Costranno, the Italian sorcerer, who was hanged at dawn this morning on the
gibbet outside the walls, for practicing the black arts. He it was who poisoned
the son of the Duke of Tours and caused the hlamc to be laid upon an inno-
cent man, Bui Francoise de Brelagny, suspecting the truth, trapped him into
s eossiesEion to her, and laid the facia before the authorities."
"I heard something of this matter," uiioth I. "But 1 have been in Oiartret
only a matter of a week."
"It is Costranno, well enough," Raid Stuart, shaking his head. "Hie features
are so distorted I would not have known him, nave lhat (he middle finger of his
left hand is missing. And this other is Jacques Pelligny, his pupil in the black
arts. Sentence of death was passed on him, likewise, hut lie had fled and could
not be found. Welt, his asrl did MOl savf him from a footpad's sword. Costran-
no's followers have cut him down from the gibbet-but why should they have
brought the body hack into the city?"
"There is something in Pelligny 's hand," I said, prying the dead fingers a-
part. It was as if, even in death, they gripped what thev held. It was a frag-
ment of gold chain, and fastened lo it a most curious red jewel lhat gleamed
in the darkness like an angry eye.
"Saint Andrew!" muttered Stuart. "A rare stone, i 'faith hark 1 " he started
to hie feet. "The watch' We must not be found by these corpses'"
Far down the alley 1 saw the glow of moving lanthorns and heard the tramp
of mailed feet. As I scrambled up, the jewel and r.hain slipped from my fingers
-it was almost as if they were snatched from my hand-and fell full on the
breast of the dead sorcerer. I did not wish its Iskf the time to retrieve it, so 1
hurried up the alley after Stuart, and glancing hack, I saw the jewel glittering
Emerging from the alley into a narrow winding street, scarcely better light-
ed, we hurried along it until we came lo an inn, and entered it. Then, seating
ourselves at a table somewhat apart from she is t tars who wrangled and cast
dice on the wine-stained boards, we called for wine and the host brought us
two great jacks.
"To our better acquaintance," quoth John Stuart, lifting his tankard. "By
■Saint Andrew, now that I see you in the light, I admire you the more. You are
a fine, tall woman, but even in morion, doublet, truilk-kisn and boots, none
could mistake you for a man. Well are you called dark Agnts! For all your red
hair and fair skin there is something strange and dark about you. Men say you
move through life like one of the Fates, unmoved, ,.»> changeable, potent with
straw. But who is this?"
The door had opened and a gust of cold wind made the candles flicker, and
sent a shiver over the men on the settles, A tall man entered, closing the door
behind him. He was wrapped in a wide black mantle, and when he raised his
head and his glance roved over the tavern, a silence fell suddenly. That face
was strange and unnatural in appearance, being so dark in hue that it was al-
most black. His eyes were strange, murky and staring. I saw several topers
cross themselves as they met his gaze, and then he seated himself at a table in
a corner furthest from the candles, and drew his mantle closer about him,
though the night was warm. He took the tankard proffered him by an appre-
hensive slattern and bent his head over it, so his face was no longer visible
under his slouch hat, and the hum of the tavern began again, though somewhat
"Blood on that mantle," said John Stuart. "If that man be not a cutthroat,
then I am much befooled, Ho6t, another bottle! "
"You are the first Scotsman 1 ever met," said 1, "though I have had deal-
ings with Englishmen,"
"A curse on the breed!" he cried. "The devil take them all into his keep-
ing! And a curse on my enemies who exiled me from Scotland."
"You are an exile!" I asked.
"Aye! With scant gold in my sporran. But fortune ever favors the brave."
and he laid hand on the hilt at his hip.
But I was watching the stranger in the corner, and Stuart turned to stare at
him. The man had lifted his hand and crooked a finger at the fat host, and that
rogue drew nigh, wiping his hands on his leathern apron and uneasy in his ex-
pression. There was something about the black mantled stranger that repelled
mble and mine host shook his
BY THE CREATOR OF KING KVLL, SOLOMON KANE, AND CONAN
Robert E. Howard (1906-I9:t(>) wrote such a successful body of adventure
fantasy that it frequently obscures the fact that he wrote in many fields,
equally well. He was the author of many horror, detective, sports, historical,
and exotic adventure stories as well as Westerns, serious and humorous. He
wrote vivid, ai-tion- filled tales about characters as memorable and larger-than-
life as his fight scenes. He left many stories incomplete at his death: stories he
had not finished and stories he had abandoned because the market for them
had ceased to exist. Some years ago Glen Lord, literary executor for the
Howard estate, unearthed many of these manuscripts as well as several fin-
ished ones. Since that time several of the incomplete yarns have been com-
pleted by various writers. COVEN 13 takes pride in presenting one of these
stories now-a story featuring Agnes de La Eere, heroine of a handful of
Howard's hislttrknl adventure yarns- in her first fantasy adventure.
gedy and doom, and that the men who ride with you do not
■ ; girl, why did you don breeks and take the road of men?"
' ihook my head, unable lo say mysel f, but as Ik urged it!
thing of myself, I said, "My
the village of I,a Fere, in ]V
de Chastillon and a peasant
ies until he grew too old tc
most he would have killed
last he sought to marry me
Agnes de Qiastillon, and I was born in
ormandy. My father is the bastard son of the Due
woman— a mercenary sol id er of the Free G-sin pass-
march and fight. If 1 had not been tougher than
ne with his heating before I was grown. When at
to a man I hated, I killed that man, and fled from
the village. One Etlienne Villiers befriended me, but also taught •
helpless woman is fair prey to all men, and wher
Hearned that I was as strong as most men, and quL
"Later I fell in with Guiscard de Clisson, a leader of the Free Companies,
who taught me the use of the sword before he was slain in an ambush I took
naturally to the life of a man, and can drink, swear, march, fight and boast
wilts the best of them. I have yet to meet my equal at sword play,"
Stuart scowled slightly as if my word did not please him overmuch, and he
lifted his tankard, quaffed deeply, and said, "There be as good men in Scot-
land as in France,_and there men say that John Stuart's blade is not made of
** WITOHOEAPT & SOaOERT
"An Italian," muttered Stuart, "I know that jabber anywhere."
But the stranger shifted into French and as he spoke, haltingly, his words
grew plainer, his voice fuller.
"Francoise. de Bretagny," quoth he, and repeated the name several limes.
"'Where is the house of Francoise de Bretagny?
The inn-keeper began giving him difsctitim
should that ill-visaged Italian rogue desire to gs
From what I hear," I answered cynically, '
any man asking for her house."
■e always told about beautiful w
t muttered: "Why
sise de Bretagny?"
?at surprise to hear
wred Siuart, lifting his
said to he the mistress of the Duke of Orlea
not mean that she-
He froue suddenly, (ankard to lip, staring, and 1 saw an expression of sur-
prise pass over his brown, scarred face. At that moment the Italian had risen,
and drawing his wide mantle about him, made for the door.
^ "Stop him!" roared Stuart, leaping to his feet, and dragging out his sword.
"Stop that rogue!"
But at lhat instant a band of soldiers in morions and breastplates came
shouldering in, and the Italian glided out past them and shut the door behind
him. Stuart started forward with a curse, to halt as the soldiers barred the way.
Striding into the center of the Uvern, and roving a stern glance over all the
cringing occupants, the captain, a tall man in a gleaming breastplate, said loud-
ly: "Agnes de La Fere, I arrest you for the murder of Jacques Pelligny!"
"Whal do you mean, Tristan?" I exclaimed angrily, springing up. "I did
not kill Pelligny!"
"This woman bbw you leave the alley where the man was slain," answer-
ed he, indicating a tall, fair wench in fealhera and gauds who cowered in the
grasp of a burly man-at-arms and would not meet my gaze. I knew her well, a
courtesan whom I had befriended, and whom 1 would not have expected to
give false testimony against me.
"Then she must have seen me too," quoth John Stuart, "for 1 was with
Agnes. If you arrest her you must arrest me too, and by Saint Andrew, my
sword will have some thing to say about that. "
"I have naught to do with you," answered Tristan, "My business is with
"Man, you are a fool." cried Stuart gustily. "She did not kill Pelligny. And
what if she did? Was not the rogue under sentence of death?"
"He was meat for the hangman, not the private citizen," answered Tristan.
"Listen," said Sluart. "He was slain hy footpads, who then attacked Agnes
who chanced to be traversing the alley at the time. I came to her aid, and we
dew two of the rogues. Did you not find their bodies, with masks to their
heads to prove their trades?"
"We saw no such thing," answered Tristan. "Nor were you seen there-
abouts, so your testimony is without value. This woman here saw Agnes dc
U Fere pursue Pelligny into the alley and there stab him. So 1 am forced to
take her to the prison."
"1 know well why you wish to arrest me, Tristan," I said coldly, approach-
ing him with an easy tread. "I had not been in Oiartres a day before you
tough! to make me your mistress. Now you take this revenge upon me. Fool!
1 am mistress only to Death ! "
"Enough of this idle talk," ordered Tristan curly. "Seize her, man!" It was
his last command on earth, for my sword was through him before he could
lift his hand. The guard closed in on me with a yell, and as I thrust and par-
ried, John Stuart sprang to my side and in an instant the inn was a madhouse,
with stamping boots, clanging blades and the curses and yells of slaughter.
Then we broke through, leaving the floor strewn with corpses, and gained the
street. As we broke through the door I saw the wench they brought to testify
against me cowering behind an overturned settle and I grapsed her thick yel-
low locks and dragged her with me into the street
"Down that alley," gasped John Stuart. "Other guardsmen will be here a-
non. Saint Andrew, Agnes, will you burden yourself with that big hussy? We
must take to our heels! "
"1 have a score to settle with her," I gritted, for all my hot blood was
roused. 1 hauled her along with us until we made a turn in the alley and halt-
ed for breath.
"Watch the street," I bade him, and then turning to the cowering wench.l
said in calm fury: "Margot, if an open enemy deserves a thrust of steel, what
(ate does a traitress deserve? Not four days agone i saved you from a beating
al the hands of a drunken soldier, and gave you money because your tears
touched my foolish compassion. By Saint Trignan, 1 have a mind to cut the
head from your fair shoulders! "
"Oh, Agnes," she sobbed, falling to her knees, and clasping my legs. "Have
"111 spare your worthless life," 1 said angrily, beginning to unsling my
sword belt. "But I mean to turn up your petticoats and whip you as no bead-
le ever did."
"Nay, Agnes! " she wailed. "First hear me! I did not lie! It is true that I
saw you and the Scotsman coming from the alley with naked swords in your
hands. But the walch said merely that three bodies were lying in the alley,
and two were masked, showing they were thieves. Tristan said whoever slew
them did a good night's work, and asked me if I had seen any coming from
the alley. So 1 thought no harm, and replied that I saw you and the Scotsman
John Sluart. But when I spoke your name, he smiled and told his men that he
had his reasons for desiring to get Agnes de La Fere in a dungeon, helpless
and unarmed, and bade them do as he told them. So he told me that my testi-
mony about you would be accepted, but the rest, about John Stuart, and the
two thieves he would not accept. And he threatened me so terribly that I
dared not defy him. "
"The foul dog," I muttered. "Well, there is a new captain of the watch in
hell tonight. "
"Bui you said Hu-ee bodies," broke in John Sluart. "Were there not four?
Pelligny, two thieves, and the body of Costranno?
She shook her head.
"I saw the bodies. There were but three. Pelligny lay deep in the alley,
fully clad, the other two around the crook, and the larger was naked."
"Eh?" ejaculated Stuart, "By Heaven, that Italian! 1 have but now remem.
btred! on, to the house of Francoise de Brelagny!"
"Why there?" 1 demanded.
"When the Italian in the inn drew his cloak about him to depart," an-
swered Stuart, "1 glimpsed on his breast a fragment of golden chain and a
great red jewel - T believe the very jewel Pelligny grasped in his hand when
we found him. I believe that man is a friend of Costranno's, a magician come
to take vengeance on Franeoise dc Brelagny! Come!"
He set impetuously off up the alley, and I followed him, while the girl
Margot scurried away in another direction, evidently glad to get off with a
Stuart led the way, grimly silent, and I followed after him, somewhat per-
plexed by his silence and the silence of Ihe street. For strangely silent were
the dark, twisting streets, silent even for night Involuntarily, 1 shuddered,
though whether at the silence or the cold, I could not say. We encountered no
one, not even soldiers, on our way to the home of Francoise de Brelagny.
It was not far to her home from the tavem where we fled the watch,
though the tavern lay huddled among the squalor of the town's least reput-
able quarter and the home of Francoise de Brelagny, as befitted so magnifi-
cent a structure, was in a neighborhood suitable to the wealthiest noble-
woman. No lights shown in the windows as we approached, and indeed none
of the neighbor houses were lit at this time of night. We paused, John Stuart
and I, without the courtyard gate and strained our ears, but the silence beat
on us like the darkness, oppressive and threatening.
It was John Stuart who reached forward and pushed the gate, which open-
ed noiselessly a I his touch.
"Ah!" said he a moment later. "The lock's been broken and within the
half hour, 111 wager."
"Inside, then" I replied, barely able to keep my voice to a whisper. "Even
now we may be too lale!"
"Aye," Stuart said, shoving the gate open the rest of the way. 1 heard the
rasp of steel against scabbard as he drew his sword, and ihe dark shadow that
was John Stuart's form moved agilely through the gale and i followed after.
Within the courtyard it was as still as it was without, but there were thicker
shadows here, for around us grew trees and thick shrubbery, as still as dark
statues in the breeze-calmed night.
"Saint Andrew!" 1 heard John Sluart exclaim, and saw the dark form of
his body bend and crouch to the ground, bending over something-or some-
one, I moved lo his side and peered down.
It was at that moment that the moon chose to eome out, and 1 saw that we
were bending over the corpse of a man, who, by his dress and his presence in
the courtyard, I took to be a servant of Francoise de Bretagny.
"Does he live? " 1 asked.
"Nay," replied John Sluart, "Strangled, by the look of his face and the
marks on his throat -strange, thoBe marks. There's something about them out
of the ordinary. Have you flint and steel, lass?"
For answer, I drew flint and steel from the pouch at my waist and struck
sharply. Briefly a spark flared, bathing the bloated face of the corpse in pale
yellow light. Briefly, hut long enough to show us what we saw. I gasped at the
sight of the marks on the dead man's throat.
"By all lhat the Saints hold sacred," John Stuart said. "Tib an enemy
we're against lhat I would rather not be facing, Dark Agnes. For such is my
thought. Mayhap ye'd best go back and find your way out of this cursed
"What was it you saw, John Stuart?"
"Have you not eyes of your own, lass?"
"I saw-but I would hear it from your lips."
"Then hear it. I saw the marks of a hand against the throat of this corpse,
and the marks of that hand were missing a finger."
"The hand of the dead sorcerer Costranno?" I said. "But how could lhat
be? We saw him dead, the marks of the rope as plain upon his neck as the
marks of the hand upon this poor man's neck."
"That jewel-" John Stuart said. "Saint Andrew! A magician is out to a-
venge Coslranno, but it is not a friend of his but Costranno himself. Necro-
mancy is the only answer. That alleyway where you were altacked. 1 have
heard that the stones paving that alley were taken from an ancient heathen
temple that once stood in a grove outside ihe city.
"It leaves me cold to think on it, but if but a tenth the tales related about
CoBtranno be true, then he's magician enough to accomplish this and more.
Mayhap his friends were not bearing him to his own house, but lo that alley
with its heathen temple's stones. Aye, mayhap they cul him from the gallows
and were bringing him there. Likely Pelligny had even spoke the incantation
MIBTRKSS 07 DEATH SB
to bring the dead to life when those footpads interrupted before he could
place the jewel-ihe last step in the ritual. And that was accomplished when
the jewel fell from your fingers on to the breast of the corpse."
"The holy saints!" I cried. "Then, I am a part of this. But even so, ! swear
that jewel slipped not from my fingers, but was yanked by something; some
"By something from beyond the grave," Stuart said grimly, as he rose.
"Now you go back and find your way to the waterfront and flee this city, for
the watch will want your throat for a gibbet noose if you remain in Chartres."
"I cannot flee, for whatever snatched that jewel from my hands has made
me an accomplice to necromancy and blasphemy," I said, resenting also the
implication that I should flee from danger while John Stuart stayed to face it
"Two against one will not be too great odds when the one is a magician re-
turned from the grave."
John Stuart paused, and 1 half expected argument. But instead he said,
"There's little time then," he said. "Costranno, once back from the grave,
must have stripped the clothes from the third corpse and set out straightway
to find Francoise de Bretagny. We are lucky he chose the tavern we were in to
ask directions, though he must have known this house from the stories I have
"But not the quarter of the city he was in," I said. "It was a quarter popu-
lous with thieves and cutthroats, but they had no truck with Costranno, nor
he with them. Let us hurry. Even now we may be too late! "
We found the door to the house open like the courtyard gate. I found can-
dles and lit one. We were in. a large parlor, splendidly furnished in a way that
bespoke a householder of great wealth. But there was no time to note the
splendor of the room and its hangings.
'This way," John Stuart said. He headed for the stairs and I followed after
We reached the top of the stairs, where the candle cast flickering red light
among the black shadows of a narrow hallway. For but a second John Stuart
paused, then pointed and said, "That door!"
At the end of the hall there was an open door. He rushed toward it and I
followed after it, almost causing the candle to flicker out in my haste.
The room beyond the open door was a bedchamber, a lady's bedchamher,
fully as lavish in its appointments as the parlor below. The bed was empty
and the covers thrown into the floor. Furniture was overturned and a mirror
broken, as if some thrown object had struck it instead of the target it was
meant for. There was no sign of Francoise de Bretagny, nor of Costranno.
"What sorcery is this? Has he vanished into the air and taken her with him?"
I said. "They couldn't have gotten past us."
A noise came from the darkness at my side, so sudden and unexpected,
that 1 almost dropped the candle as I whirled to face the source of the sound.
I held the candle high to bathe a dark corner with light, and there in the cor-
ner was a man, cowering and gibbering, as a frightened child might gibber.
The man drew back against the wall as John Stuart approached him. The
servant uttered sounds, but they were meaningless sounds, such as are not
I pleasant to hear from the lips of a living man. I felt a shudder pass involun-
tarily up my spine and saw that even John Stuart was slightly unnerved by
this, for as he turned back to face me the light from the candle was sufficient
to show the strain upon his face.
"His mind is gone," Stuart said. He stood for a moment, those piercing
eyes of his sweeping the room in a way that almost convinced me those sha-
dows could conceal naught from him. "Aye," he said suddenly. "It's all so
plain to me now. Obviously Francoise de Bretagny saw the need for protec-
tion, because both the servants we have seen were dressed and obviously set to
guard her through the night But the magnitude of the danger that beset her
she did not begin to guess, else she would have fled the city -and indeed- all of
France. For now one of her servant-guards lies dead and the other's mind has
fled him at the sight of a dead man carrying off hia mistress. And she has been
taken— but who can say where?"
"More than likely," I said, "it is too late now to save Francoise de Bretagny
though we can avenge her murder. "
"There may be time," John Stuart said*, "if we make haste!" He began
moving around the room, peering here and there, tapping the walls, feeling
along the woodwork and behind hangings. "My guess is that Costranno has
more sinister plans for her than murder, else her corpse would be sprawled
across that bed. It may even be that some further ritual is necessary to fully
revive him from the dead and that he has marked Francoise de Bretagny for
that foul ceremony. Ah! What is this?"
His hand had reached behind a torn hanging and I could see that he moved
something, though what it was he moved was hidden to me by the hanging.
But as he moved it, a part of the wall moved out, revealing a passageway and
beyond the passageway, a stair, leading down.
U WITOHOjIAI'T A SORCERY
'This is how our necromancer made his escape," John Stuart said. From
near the door, the maddened servant increased his gibbering, more frightened
now than before. "Aye!" said John Stuart. "Our friend knows about this
He stepped through the opening and 1 followed after him, holding high
the candle to cast its light before us. "It is likely Francoise de Bretagny knew
naught of this passageway," John Stuart said. "It may be that the entire city
of Chartres is combed with passageways known only to Costranno and a few
"That is not a cheering thought," I said. "But IVe a feeling there is mote
to it than I care for there to be."
The stairs were stone, seemingly carved from solid rock, leading down far
below the level of the street, far deeper I felt than any cellar or dungeon in
the city would be expected to go. The stairs wound down into the earth until
I thought they would lead to hell itself, and then, ahead and below, we saw ■
light coming through a doorway at the foot of the stairs.
We paused momentarily upon the stairs and I strained my ears against the
silence. For a moment it seemed deathly still, but then I thought a sound did
come to me— the sound of a voice, perhaps, but too faint and muffled by dis-
tance and thick stone walls for me to be certain it was not the growling of
I snuffed out the candle I held and laid it carefully on the stairs. I was cer-
tain that the thickness of the walls around us would hide the sound of a can-
dle drooping from any human earn, but I was not so certain that the ears the
sound should be hidden from were human.
I drew my sword and followed John Stuart down the stain.
We reached the bottom of the stairs and beyond the open door we saw a
crypt, brightly lighted by torches set into brackets in the wall. I call it a crypt
because there were caskets, or what appeared to be caskets, set into niches in
the wall. But the writings and designs carved on these caskets and on the wall
themselves, were not Christian, nor of any religion with which I am familiar.
In the center of the crypt there was a dais of black marble and on the dais,
naked and unconscious, but still breathing, lay Francoise de Bretagny. And a
few feet away from the dais, Costranno himself knelt, straining to lift a seven-
sided stone in the floor. As we rushed through the doorway he saw us and
gave one fierce inhuman effort that dragged the stone out of the floor and to
one aide, revealing a black, gaping hole.
Costranno 's cloak was thrown off now, and his features, hidden to us in the
tavern, were now revealed in the torch light The gibbet had done its work
well. Bloated was the face of Costranno, his lips blacked with death and the
marks and bite of the rope heavy upon his neck. He gave a great, incoherent
cry as John Stuart moved toward him. Then the sorcerer fell back to the wall
behind him and snatched a torch from its bracket His unearthly, garbled
voice rose in a shout that might have been rage or a call to the blasphemous
gods he worshipped, and he threw the torch at Stuart.
The touch struck the brown stone flooring before John Stuart 's feet, with
a shower of sparks and flames and a sudden billowing of black smoke. In-
stantly Stuart's figure was hidden from my view, hut I could hear his voice,
giving vent to his cage in a string of curses. The smoke was gone almost as sud-
denly as it came and Stuart still stood, apparently unhurt. But when he moved
to leap at Costranno, something seemed to hold him back, as if an invisible
wall had formed.
I spent no time in trying to fathom Costranno 's magic. Before the sorcerer
could reach another torch, I was upon him. And as Stuart cursed and raved
because he could not move to hurl himself and his sword point upon his foe,
I pasaed my sword twice through the undead man's body without harming
A horrible, angry cry came forth from Costranno'a mangled throat He.
drew his sword, and only my mail shirt beneath my doublet saved me from
his terrible thrusts. But even bo I was forced back, and the growling, snarling
Costranno bore toward me, his sword slashing and beating at me with such
terrific blows that I was hard put to parry.
I knew fear at that moment-icy, nerve-shattering fear that seemed to grip
my very soul, and rendered me so senseless that I fought by instinct and maw
stregnthand without science or technique, save that of the moment. Costranno
was in a rage and wanted my life and the life of John Stuart and of the naked,
helpless girl who lay as intended sacrifice upon the black attar.
1 did not realise his strategy until the heel of my left foot reached the edge
of the opening in the floor behind me. Costranno had forced me back, hoping
not to best me with the sword, but to hurtle me into the abyss. J knew noth-
ing of what might be at the bottom of that pit, but somehow I knew that the
kindest death that would befall one who toppled into it would be to have his
body dashed to peices at its bottom. 1 felt, by whatever power I cannot say,
lething in that
which I Jjd II
And that is what s<
I hacked fiercly at ("lostranno, taunting more on strength than skill, s
in that moment drove him hank far enough to give me the room I needed, i
dove to one side, rolled and came to my feel behind him. I struck with all my
jlregnth, and the edge of my blade eul deep into the flesh of Costranno's
mangled neck, severing through hone and gristle as well as flesh, and then
pulling free as the severed head flopped from the shoulder of lite corpsc-and
into the gaping blackness of the hole into which he had tried lo push me.
There was an unearthly cry of terror from the blackness beneath the feet
of ]|i? sli II >i!srii.iin« turps*:, Co^ranm.'? hiradkss hi»Hy si<xsd for a iiir.ivx'iM ;;'.
the edge of the pit and then on font movrai back, away from the edge.
My fear bad become so agonising that I was almost mindless, but somehow
1 saw what must he done and somehow brought myself to do it, despite the
revulsion the thought of touching Coslranni) brought to me, I have fought
minv limes and killed many men and seen many comrades die in battle. I
h»vt carried :mn\ ;s corpse lo a shallow liiiUSefitio' grave wilh no sioiRpttn.:-
linn about touching cold flesh. Hut the thought of touching a walking dead
n the ■
ecssary that 1 touch it so that it Ci
iclf to run up behind the shambling corpse and shove my hands hard
■last ■•■'. lijrht.ii*^ co>rrs..-.H ihroaaii f»y
iy and threw me back, numbly, to the floor. But even as I fell to the floor,
w the headless corpse topple into the pit.
For a moment there was a silence in the chamber aisd fiyMhi?? SUisri
moved. Then, on the altar, francoise de Bretaguy stirred and made a sr.
w!ii(riji.?r«i^ wind as i:<sn«t iou»rst-ss KlarU'd U> rdiirsi to her. John Stitsrt.
now of the spell which had imprisoned him, rushed to mv side and rea(
down to aid me to my feel.
Sudden shame a( the womanly fear I had felt while fighting Costra
Ihioded me. Flustered, I shook t.ff Ills hand and rose to my feet, urn
but without help. "I'm all right," I said. "I can take care of myself.
John Stuart laughed, but ther* »*•. oddH-. nothing '>■' contempt or mali
e to meet-and my in his laugh, "You are more a woman than youll admit," he said. "And to
your credit, Agnes de La Fere."
"If you would aid a helpless woman," I said, with discomfort, "then see to
Francoise de Bretagny. My guess is we will need such influence as she can give
us to gain protection from the watch before we escape this city."
"Aye," John Stuart said. "There is truth in what you say." He went to see
to Francoise, and 1 stood, trying to conceal my nervousness, staring at the
open pit in the floor.
I went to the wall and took a torch from a bracket and went to the edge of
the opening and knelt down. I held the torch out over the opening and peered
down into the blackness.
Before 1 knew what was happening, a snaky, black fur-covered arm reach-
ed out and grasped my doublet. I screamed as the arm strove to drag me into
the hole and I beat down with the torch. There was a bestial cry and the thing
let go. 1 had only a glimpse, of a distorted, apish thing falling and the torch
fell after, dwindling to a speck of light far below, like a meteor. 1 whimpered
like a child and turned away from the pit into the welcome arms of John
Stuart that closed about me like the jirok'ci.ir.g arms of some saint. And with-
out shame I shivered for a time in those arms as my fear took hold of me and
"It's over now, Dark Agnes," 1 heard the soothing deep voice of John
Stuart. "And now you have naught to fear and naught to be ashamed of.
You have done as well against this horror as any woman or any man could do.
And if, ill the end, it comes to this, there is no shame for' you to act as
a woman Dark Agnes, for you are quite a woman, indeed."
I did not object as he lifted me lo my feet. "Arid it may chance," he went
on, his voice now lighter and wilh that familiar hint of laughter to it, "that
mall, when you ride froth from this city, you will find me riding at your side."
free "Do not forget the curse that hangs over me, John Stuart, Does il not
ched bother yoi; that the inta who ride with Dark Agnes ride to an early grave?"
"Not a hit," John Stuart said, with booming laughter. "For what isian-
anno other CUCse, hurts or less, upon the head of a Stuart?"
idfly. And together we replaced the stone slab in the opening in the floor and
then helped Francoise de Bretagny from the crypt and up the stairs back to
her own bedchamber, leaving behind the horror that pursued her.
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And the same thing goes for subscriptions, $3.00 buys the next 6 issues
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Witchcraft & Sorcary Sub. Deo*., 1855 W. Main St., Al ham bra, Ca. 91801
MIBTBESS 07 DKATH
The Wind Responds, the Wind Obeys the Wind Kills.
ILLUSTRATED BY STEVE FRITZ
There was a man who had a shop oil' a -maS! dars ..ircel near the river, a
man reputed lu he a sorcerer, (l was to this man Paul Benedict went.
Benedict was short, a bit [dumper than he should have been. His neutral
colored hair was rerndfog and his eyes frmctfcured only with the help of strong
contact lenses. He was in his early thirties, U>.> Eitij in a iuhstantial amount of
money that was mostly income fmm trust funds, arid yet had accomplished
nothing in life. In fart there was nothing between him and starvation except
But the inheritance meant nothing to Claudia Palmer. She was a lovely girl,
a tall, willowy brunette with the ijste to dress in such a way that her beauty
was subtly heightened. She worked as a legal secretary at one of the city's
leading law firms. She was a girl who spen; i.ej days w<iiking in an office fill-
' .'.!*'.! Liviinportefiijaeri:
leaders of industry. How could any girl like that take notice of a nobody such
as Paul Benedict? Several times- he tried to date her and each time she put him
off. Aside from Claudia, the closest thing Benedict had to a real interest was
the occult. Even here he had never applied himself because he never had to.
But now he felt the need and he knew of the shop and went to it.
The front of the shop was dark and littered with a miscellany of old boxes
ind junk, so covered over with dust and cobwebs as to give the appearance
that the place was dnsed. But. thsr :!oor was not locked and from under a door
at the shop's back, Benedict saw light. He made his way to the door and
knocked. A voice said, "Come in, Mr, Benedict, Come in."
Benedict opened the door and entered.
The room was small but seemed larger even than the shop because it was
scrupulously clean tisul zlus»~i empty. There were two common old-fashioned
wooden kitchen chairs with woven wicker seats. They faced each other across
a small rug that was black and red with strange emhlems worked upon it in
dull blue. An old man sat in one of the chairs and motioned Benedict to sit in
He was rather thin, hi& grey hair thick and neatly combed back from a high
forehead. He wore a shiny black suit that was too large for his emaciated
"Please do not step on the rug," he said, "I assure you that to do so would
Benedict carefully avoided the small rug and seated himself. "You're Mr.
"How did you know my i
me. How silly. If I at
■ asking a.
k how he knows
"Then you probably know why I come here?"
"That takes no sorcery. There are but two reasons that bring people in me.
One is to have me work a spell. The other is to have me leach them how to
"I've eome to learn magic."
"It. isssimfjls:. thirisriiiietrn. lVJu«h sort wr.s«Jd ysm Insm?"
"There arc types of magic, Mr. Benedict. I myself am a master of a most
interesting specialty rug magic. You see the small rug before you. It is a
prayer rug, but in its way more similar to the pentagram and magic circle than
it is to any other prayer rug you have ever seen. With it I may summon de-
mons and work minor devinations on occasion. It was with this rug that 1
learned your name. It may also serve me in working certain spells of a minor
nature, I wove the rug and worked nines of power into it myself. There is no
other like it in the world and only I can control it. It is like a familiar in some
ways. Of course there are other forma of magic involving nigs you have heard
of the magic carpet, I have no doubt. In my home are many rugs from all over
the world. Rugs that do a variety of things. Rug magic is but one form of aor-
"Is it powerful?"
"It is useful and practical and easy to use. You will run little danger in
learning it. But in final analysis it is but little more powerful than the parlor
'ricks of a showman."
"I want to master a form of magic, but it must be a strong form. "
"That involves danger."
"I don't eare. 1 want to master something powerful."
"Necromancy, perhaps? Demonology? But no. You will be taught these
things— they are useful to all sorcerers. But they are not what you want. To
raise a demon is easy but to bargain with one for what you need is not eaiy-
and is frequently costly. There are spells by which a magician could master
demonology but they are lost and I cannot teach them to you. No, you want
"What's that?" Benedict asked.
The wrinkles that must have been the old man's mouth parodied a smile.
"It works by fire, by water, by earth or by air. The four elements. You will
leam to summon elemental, to say a rune that will make fire burn for you m
cause water to flow to your needs. You can govern earthquakes by controlling
earth elementals or make the ground open to you. But perhaps the one which
you really want to master is air. " The old man paused a moment as if think-
ing, then went on. "Yes, for the wind itself is controlled by the elementals of
nd magic," Benedict said, "Can y<
:ach you magic. I will teach you
speak with the dead -a sccrel many
a rune and how to apeak it. i will lell
know. It is (he runes
n«mg the many planes of exii
sorcerers reject. 1 will teach yoi
you of hooks which hold ccrtai
which hold the secrets of the elementals. With the prop,
rnon any elemental and make it do vour bidding Tin- trick is in hoi
cr over them, in being able to make them do more for you each t:
teach you wind magic arid Ihe.i show you the plan* where there i
"Bui I can become powerful. . . I ean' become the moat powerful
wind magic in tin? world."
"It is mil an easy magic to master." Charles said. '"How you d<
you, nut me. And there are others who are powerful masters of wi
In this very city lives a man who may be the most powerful maate
magic of all tune. Hia name is Simon I msa.lle "
"I will better him," Benedict said.
'Tttrhaps. Time will tell, aa th,
dsed into monlhs and Paul Benedict learned magic
man who called himself Mr. Charles. He learned to
and summon minor demons: he learned to make tal-
ismans; and he learned a acore or more of simple rune,. He learned to make
the mirrors of magic: that which is made from well or river water and shows
the future, that which is made from an ink and shows the present, and the
polished stone that reflects the condition of a man's soul. He learned of herbs
and the powers of certain atones, metals and -.«-. He (earned of rituals, of
lost and forbidden books, of amulets. He became slowly but skillfulU adept.
And with time his skill increased.
!:> she spsrr bedroom of his spas'iniem he ■■■•■>. <ip his htsc-k renin arid -pi
the spells that made it impossible for any but him to enter while he lived.
Here he drew a pentagram on the fl,.w and ..el aflame ,-ieven candle, of eternal
light tlial would burn a* long as he remained alive. Here be placed the aeeou-
And after a time passed and Heni'diei '<, .vasirry >■!' magic surpassed the ex-
pectations of his teacher, came the time when id -nc.dk-i learned the first of
the wind runes.
And never during that time did he forget Claudia Palmer.
She lived in the same apartment building us rtaiedk [, thou|ih her apart-
ment was smaller and on a tower floor. He saw he, frequently and they would
nod to one another and speak briefly if they met on the elevator. At times
Benedict would ace her with some man and the pangs of jealousy and ilia own
fury would direct hatred toward the man-hut he controlled himself and bur-
ied bis hatred in his studies. Then he noticed that Claudia was seeing someone
to the exclusion of all other men.
Two months after learning the first of the wind runes, Benedict knew as
much about wind magic as Mr, Charles could teach him.
Each night Benedict would go for long walks in the park near hi- apart-
ment and test and develop his skilL As soon as he was certain no one was
close enough to notice, he would take a piece of paper from bis pocket and
fold it into an airplane. He would summon the elementals of the air In catch
the small paper plane and carry it tn the terrace uf his aparlmenl so that he
would find it when be returned home.
Or he would call the elementals and have them bend trees almost l.o the
ground or blow leaves from one tree without distrubing any others. He soon
resiizs-d that made. Ilk" any form of exero-e, tired ni<e o'.il. There *•■•:£ Ion its
to his strength and to increase those limits he musl exercise. 'He devised sys-
tematic procedures for increasing his strength as well as his skill. Kxercises'in
He grew to know the wind elementals and to know how lo deal with them.
His experimentation found the ways of varying hi' tonal inflection that in-
creased his hold and power over them.
And finally the evening came when Mr. Charles admitted thai Benedict
knew all be could learn from him.
"'So where do I go to leam more?" Benedict asked.
"There are places. There are people. There are books. A friend of mine, a
man who has no use for wind magic but who has use for money has the
Crimoire Elemental which confab', sr.aiiv «].«t!U vow could not learn from me.
II.. |-n . ;l. .1
"No matter. I must have that book. Get it for me and I will pay you, "
"It can be done. " He named a price that *a; every !.ni as large as Benedict
felt it would be.
40 WITCHCRAFT & 8OB0EET
Benedict was certain of his power, but he could nol forget the man Charles
l;;t«l cslleJ perhf., ...■:■..>,,. .,...■., chitj^c. who e.er lived. Wlih (he
fti-tin- «fttlnisia«ji v;i;h which he l.ad studied ^rvrry, H< :H now ->-; .sivnii
studying Simon Crisaiile.
He was an easy man to learn about, this Simon Crisaille. He was well
export business and the p..., ... ... „., ..,„„., ..,, „„„,.,
and anlique shop. He was sin;!* atsd «<w'd to have no family. He traveled
lot. obstensibly because of his import business. But Benedict" suspected thi
Grisaille's travels carried him frequently to -hose out of the way places wbic
are of special inters So magidasis. When he was in lown Crisaillc lived in
penthouse a lew blocks from where Benedict lived. He was as well liked as h
was known and few prc^l..- „,< - fl J aware that he was anvthing more than
playboy with the pwfoijnd ?«.«! luck i« hsve. s stew business manaeer t
keep him from losing his business.
Yet in another strata of society he was more highly regarded. Among thi
portion of the city's populace thai understood ami jiMslited magic, eilh,
good or otherwise. Grc-ailh w*s held lo he the master. It was said of bin
he was one of the most skillful sorcerers in history and that no man ever
iieed such mastery over the elementals of the air before,
A sort of jealousy grew up in Benedict as he learned o
« ihi' i
felt for the man who was now dating Claudia Pal
I'hal man's name was John Dexler and he worked for an insurance com-
pany as an investigator. For weeks Benedict had sat in his black room and
stared into a magic mirror to learn about Dexter and lo work up the courage
hat he knew was lo come. On the day be/ore lie was to pick up (he hook
He spied on Dexter all that day from the safely of his black rooi
Dexter was getting ready lo leave for home, Benedict called him.
"1 have some information for you about ihe Spangler case." Bene
knowing that Dex' - --' ' -" " ' '" " "
don't think Spangler
aclly satisfied with the ..,._..,....
le claims lo be and 1 have proof."
"Can you drop bv my office.
"I'd rather meet you. Tonight and alone. I'm nervous about this."
"i.«ok. can'l you give me some idea-"
'Til show il to you in person."
"How much you want?"
"I'm not after money. If you think this ia wurlh money and want lo pay
me after you see it, then fine. I got a score to settle wills Spangler and I think
There was a pause but Benedict was mi worried. He knew how thoroughly
Dexter distrusted Spangler and how easy it would be for him to believe olhe'r
people shared his feeliuga.
"Okay," came Uextcr's voice. 'I'll meet you wherever you say."
Benedict arrived at the park earlv and stationed himself among ihe trees
on the side of a small hill. The bench where Dexter was lo meel him was lo-
cated across an open playing field near another hill. Steps led up the hill to a
small path and a stone wall bordered not nnlv Ihe path but the steps as wi II
Part of Ihe wall was directly above tile bench. '
Benedict watched as Dexler arrived and slood wailing. Benedict waited
until Dexler finally sal down on the bench and settled back, impatient lull
determined nol to leave wilhout that evidence.
When Dexler was settled on Ihe bench, Benedict began.
Sheltered by trees from casual view he feared no detection. He raised hi.,
arms. He began chanting the rune in a low mice.
He fell the stirring of ihe wind in answer to his rune. He spoke another
rune, this one a command to action.
And Ihe wind acted.
The wind moved to the wall above and behind the unsuspecting Dexter.
Benedict called his command again and all his strength urged the wind on.
Sweat hrokc out on hia brow as the wind pushed on the wall. The wind pushed
harder as Benedict repeated the rune. Pushed harder-and the wall broke. And
al that moment Dexter turned as if first aware [hat something was wrong.
Benedict was too far away to hear his screams. He saw a huge wind driven
rock fly from the wall, strike the man he hated on the head. He saw the red
of blood as Dexter fell to the ground and other Blurs.;* from tlif br--iLfiii wall handsome, with a llghl perpetual ,111 11
tumbled down (he hill around him. People saw what happened and panicked. slightly ironic. He wa. dressed well hut rather casually ami gaie He unprcs
Someone tun to Dexter and bent down over him. A crowd gathered. of being totally at horn.-. which in a sense he wa,. Mill lleiic. id knew
Nearly exhausted from hi* efforts, Henedict dropped lo ins knees. II
_4_ smile was focu.e.l on Uau.iia.
The next night lie went to the shop early. ''"'^.'i 1 '"'" , ,, . , . i M , r ,., " ( risiilh hi ■•'
He knor.krd and heard Chiirles' rasping voice say, "Comr in.'' ^ '' ■'"' ' . . ,
^You're early," (.Tiarles said as Benedict entered. "-'! Z'hi a hobb] IwKrilVrw.W '
"Ye,- no. No. something's wrong." *"•""" \"^''}'' ii , . , . , T . |M ,-„, , ■ 1 . 111( | j . l VaUurr .,„„
"1 have the mnney.l want the book." . ',,,,. , , , ill, 1 .1
"I can sec it in vour late. You've dun. -oir.eileng wrong, haven't you?" ■* laid Benedict. I hop.- v.„, .Ion I mui.l u- jn,i i. omii, ai .| . .
Uiarhs henl over the .mall rug before hi* chair. Bencdul saw his hand Ihis, Mr. '-'^'- , ■ ■ , ,■ Jf . ,„,,,„. ,.;,.„ ,, ,,,„..,,-, h(lrl i( , r .„
flick «u% JBaking ;s (pick iiccvoL,? jiassagr ahov,; it. Coarsei api.-ke is phrase - ■■- ^ ■ . _ , (
Benedict did not understand and the rug changed in a subtle way. 11 seemed t , ( | ,, ^
to waver and become darted like lieate.d id. Charts peered at the rug and . ". V ( . ( ... ( , lll |,]\ llll tell .,n lie more a
a bsili oi horror and disbelief pssscd upon his features. vl '"' '" ' ; "' ""
"You've killed a man. You've used magic as a murder weapon!" it? '
"I brought your monev. Hive m--. the book." ''
"You can't have it now. You'll have lo pay for your crimes."
Benedict saw a paper wrapped parcel in the corner, "is that the book';" he 'i wo nights later, a- rlem-diel wa.. l-eiumun: home. In' -aw <.ri,adb ;
The old II jumped lo his feet and pushed against Henedict. trying to .-oinc remark ni' I oi-adle'.. The, gol inlo t.ri„..lle s ear and drove oil we
kern him from the hook. Benedict shoved him aside !tod picked up the parcel. -eeing Mi-.i- ili. i lh Inrned ami wet.l hack the way lie e.iu.e. walking for :
.,-srW the paper from it. It was the hook, all right, a thick ouarto book in before hi, rage | 1ib «| billed int.. pnrpose.
faded ailtiejuc binding, lie opened the hook to the title page and saw words _ I he neU evening, after everyone .■!-,■ i.i I he budding exeepl the watc
written there in a language few psopis' ...rsdcrsloon. a language Charles had in the lobby wa* asleep, H.-.ie.h.t went to the root ol ll.c hmldiii" iitid :
taught him and told hit" *»>' old before ■Mkmti* sunk. '»r a long time Willi the ,tr<.ng wind wluppmii .iro I him. He *p..ke (u-
R B ,isdktESfio<;fd3tth«V.idfoao. »'"' '''' '"'' x"" 1 "'""' • ll '"" 1 >""• '""';' l' kl > ! "'- f "' , » lil V l ,u (l'> ?'»'
„.,,„* ,,,„> or, (he iW. Sk-r.etiH topped beside him know lu.n heller. ■o,m„e nu.r, lam, I..,. ».lh and responsaye lo lus
and examined him 'rarefullv. Hi B breathing was normal. The fall seemed only rnirnds. It wa, like tru g ,o,ne , sal 1 ,.,, g.,,,,,,1 ,1, eonhdenee „,,,;
lo have knocked him out. !' " l " l \"--"f' "- l 1 '"' 1 ^ "'t' 1 -real.T ease arid M.c.e.s. . in.,,,, t.r
That wasn't enough, wa- said to be the ine.l ma.tiT ,,l the air elemenlals aloe. I„ ,Mea
There were other elemenlals than the elemental of the air and though he would lake skill. \iul nimniif.
was mailer of air. benedict knew ihe basic runes of command to the other r.ach malil t.-r a month lienedul «e,,l lo lire rool ol lu, aparlmeril I
elemental*. The elemental of fire, for example. '"S- r ■"••> '»"? '"• n ""' s J '' ' ' ' l !"" l(l l ,la >. J """
He started to leave and as he did so. t.hsrle.'i-ugejiLighlinscye?. >jj.;.ik.t!:j!; : "- ,( ' : ";d ■"' -k' 11 a "d al I I I ! r I he »n
3 , dri atiiini him from any spell on the rug, rlcnedicl henl came Ins. .-o greal wa- Ins eonlrol ol it by I he end ol that month tin
and folded it in take, with him. Then he *poke another rune. "'"'; *'riiie,l a« ■■<.li-iilit.ii ol his own mind and Ii.hIv.
He was blocks away before he heard >b- sirs,,., ^ the fire engines. The next >■■ ^ >« nollimg could stop hum
morning he read in Ihe paper about the fire and the death of a lonely old *»t even Nmon l.nsaille.
.hr.pkecper. h, "' i '-
tention that) yesterday's story of the freak accident thai killed the man m
Henedict was not expert at reading the ancient language of sorcery, lint he 'I'" 1 '- Uj,J,!lil - ^ !a \ ' , '"" ! '' [['■
knew something about it and was determined to work the rest of it out. It m l" lluig rea.ly to lt .ml.
wkpiIow lediouswork. hut he read the book on wind magic. ' ' """ ' lilkl ' •' ,|llr
Head the book and tried the exerei*es that increased his skill, hi the next > «' hesitated a imniile then slipped lie- ei, ; , ([i . , |e entered her apart
few week* his power and ma d grew. ■■ ' '
And one day he 3 poke to Claudia in the elevator. IVrhaps his power gave >r lark t.lue .->,■, we not ,o .lark a, the .lies, l„,l 15, nuliel i.iu^lil
him new eonf.denee. but he asked her out and she accepted. They dined arid Ihe n.nke.l. in.i-l heauli ul e ? , s he had •■„■? ,een. >., you r. e,. U ing .,-..
saw n show together Aferwards ifiev wfttt d;,.ir;h>g. ih- was not very good go ..til . are )„n ^ |„. „ ; i,,|
but ,he didn't seem to mind. More dates followed. Thing, finally seemed lo ^ ^ " , [ , t , ,„ .„„ „„. „,„„„,■-
hs goinghis wav. „. , . „ .j ' ...
A month later he saw the notice in the paper: Creole- was, sbowmg a > ' « . i. in.-r, was .. . oi.mar.ni, .-, iii^.n. . .
s^dflt dis^Uv of isrM.ohimhi.u art and Benedict succumbed to wh„n-y and I aul -
,| d oh , wit! .11 > , II. ■-.".! r\l\' ll.i.
lied \nd in truth the display was -]orge, hm. "
fascinating though it wa* not a form of art he particularly cared aboul. "hcl «■> ot me.
"Oh h-*k." dsa«5ia said.r.olicisiasoriH-aiiii'S fWncdict toll,. wed r.er acro^ i^.-'i i-ns-olh. I -;m o.-iea! '* " f - ■ *"■ '; M" ■" ' "■' ■
the room to a small statuette. "What's that?" "''I"' P' "' l "''- Hl " Mi llL "' k ' '!/ "? ■■" ""^ '"" ,L "^ """ , >" '
Benedict saw a small jade statue, green streaked with hits of brown. A hi \ M i ill- -elom
small animal perched like a gargoyle above what ^emed to lie a hehneted f.e . jini.--, daudia. lie , lie saw a ,,., e pa. ,iu, -onu .in. op-
human head. Before Benedict could answer, a deep voice [rum behind said, d.-.k across the room. I i.ant you to write a uoi. , n. s,uo.
"It'* Altec A statuette of a rabbit associated with the goddess Mayahuel. what kind ol note.
1 and»o did Benedict. "'I'l'*""- •■"■ I"!"'- *"" ( «■'';" : " 11 >'""■
He saw Simon l.risaille standing there. alie wl ' 1 ' 1 u> l '"■ ri, '- k : "" 1 l ,lrk ''" !T '' J""- ..
It was fienediet's first really close look at the sorcerer. He was tali and r-ow write Meet mc on the rool ami s,e„ it.
.She started lo yet lo her feel bill before sin- .-.>,ild .-land Benedict spoke "it doesn't matter. Soon I'll Mu»f vour death."
a rune (,f Control. She allied back, unable to resist, lie )c| Ihe rune hold her "ll"... alway.i a nuslakc lo use ma^ic Inward such narrow ends.*'
fur a minute, then released her. lie would need all hi, power i„ his fight with "I don't think it's narrow to demand what - !- due you. Itul that doean'l
lirisaille. matter, Grisaille. 1 want to show you how wilt I learned whirl Charles taught
mv skills. I'm (!ood.'l.ook-ni, how ,ou.'" ' ' ' Grisaille sLmdwaili'u..
lie p „t to his feel and walked across the roof thoii^li not lo the edge "My "[)r, you admit defeat's,, easily" lienerhel demanded.
He spoke the rune that aroused the wind and hrought it to his aid. He Me stepped hack and ealled more loudlv. Tin- wind responded. It whipped
spoke in words and terms loo aneienl (or the prl lo understaud-bul words across the roof with such fury thai Grisaille w,i- foreed lo brace himself a-
and terms the elemenlals knew well I he wind answered. g a j„ st the doorway. IV wind spun around him.attackmtf him mrmlessly .
Ahruptly something flew up over llie edge of ihe building and sclllcd at Now I ' Kill:""
'■•'■' ■ ■" " ■-. ....!,. 1,1,. .1 , .,. ..,.., ,..,.
"No, not a magic carpet." Henedid .aid "Take a look at il." He spoke and wind whipped Ihe words from his mouth with such fury that
He held il up for her. "It belonged lo my Icaiher Me left it lo me when he Henediet never heard ihe nine lie spoke, ihe wind slirred wildly, as if torn
as yet, hut 1 will." "Kill!" Bencdicl commanded, "kill now 1 "
"Whal do you take me for?" he said, iii sudden anger. "1 sent Ihe wind to II lifted Ihe -mail prayer rug from the roof and threw il into the air. It
fetch it, Claudia. The wind obeys me, I'm Ihe ..reatesl master of wind magic hovered a moment, daneinc in air, whirled by till' wind, then shot *tf»i»fct
in the world now. And do you kn,>w who the seeond grealest master of wind for Benediet. Il slapped acro-s bis face, eoverinfj il, blocking his vision and
magic is'' Simon Grisalle." his breath. He coughed am! slavered back, Ihe wind playing aroocd biro.
"There's nothing sopcrc.^.ursi ahmit Simon. Or ynu either," His leg struck the safely wall al Ihe edge of Ihe roof and he lost balance, lie
"There isn't? Ask your friend John llextcr if you ever learn that secret. did not see Cri.-iaiile leap lo grab for him and ink,.
Ask him about the wind thai caused thai so-called freak accident that took It wasn't rifjfil! He was ihe wind master nol Grkaillci
his lift. Ask the fool who made ihis carpet about Ihe fire [hat look his life. But as he fell il seemed to Henediet thai Ihe rushing wind was laughing
PAPERBOUND FANTASY FICTION FOR SALE
SPACEWAT; Issues 1 through S, published in the '60s. BSc per copy;
set $2.50. The four issues published in 1939 and '70, 50 tents each.
Stories by A. E. van Vogl, Andre Norton, August Derleth, Arthur J.
Burks, Forrest Ackerman, Ralph M. Farley, Emil Petaja, Gerald Page.
FANTASY BOOK : Published in late '40s and early '50s and sold mostly
by subscription. Five issues still available: 1, 8, *, fl, 6. BBc each; set
$1.50. Stories by A. E. van Vogt, Robert Bloch, Andre Norton (Andrew
North), Cordwainer Smith, Isaac Asimoy & James MaeCreigh, etc.
GARDEN OF FEAR: A booklet containing weird-fantaiy stories by
H. P. Lovecraft, David H. Keller, M. IX, L, A. Eshbach, Miles Breuer,
M. D. and Robert E. Howard. The title story, relating the adventures
of Hunwulf the Barbarian, is by Robert E. Howard. 88 per copy.
English publications available:
Booklets: STOWAWAY TO MARS, MAN IN DUPLICATE, THE
DYN'O-DEPRESSANT, BLACK-WING OF MARS, ZERO HOUR,
MOONS FOR SALK, BLACK AVENGERS. Also firut two issues of
VARGO STATTF.N magazine and NEW WORLDS No. 21. 85c each.
Can also supply copies of many of the digest mags of the 'BOs, such as
FANTASY & SCIENCE FICTION, FANTASTIC, IMAGINATION,
IMAGINATIVE TALES, FANTASTIC UNIVERSE, AMAZING
STORIES, ORIGINAL S. F., FUTURE, GALAXY, S. F. PLUS, etc.
50 cents each. Send your want lists. Fifties and sixties only.
F. P. C. I., Book Dept., 1855 W. Main St. Athambra, Ca. 91801
m WITOHCHAFT & B0B0ERY
The Hate Was Real and Deadly. But Who Could Have Sent It?
ILLUSTRATED BY BURGE
by Tcrri Piickard
Nadine first felt the cold touch of the thing creeping, pawing at her
■■ a dog paws at a bone. She whs alone in the house at the time, doing
those unimportant household chores all women must do to make a house
a home when— it reached out to touch her. She didn't know what it
was then. She only knew a chill ran through her, and that the thing
was directed. It knew who she was, and it knew she was aware of its
being tliere. At firlt it stayed for only a short time. It didn't have
much strength then.
It came again. On days when she was alone, the thing would strike
at her. As Fear began to grow in her, the other's strength grew, too.
Esch time it left her drained and more afraid. It knew her well now.
It knew just when its coming would have the most effect on her. It
knew just when she would be rooted to the floor with fear of it and how
she could be 80 used, the perspiration of her fear would be icy cold upon
her forehead and lip. As the months passed It began to come back more
often, just being there, quiescent, waiting. Every once in awhile its
coldness reached out to her, and then withdrew to sit and wait again.
Then, one day, she went shopping for a new dress for the Country
Club dance. After much effort she found a pale green chiffon that clung
to her figure as though it was made just for her. She felt proud, imag-
ining her husband Jeffs eyes appraising her as he looked her up and
down with that "Look what's mine" proud look of his. And then it hit.
It hit her as though it held a whip. It slapped her face, whipping
her legs and her arms in short, sharp tirades of angry lashes. She tried
to protect herself with her arms; covering first her face, then her legs,
trying, trying— trying to keep it from, striking her. She screamed a
long, high shrill scream and the saleswoman grabbed and held her arms
and in a pit of despsir she fought the thing back with all the mental
strength in her. Now she knew what it was . . . hatred. Strong, demoniac
Hate receded then and in its place came a short burst of mocking
laughter as if from deep inside her. It left her shamed and cringing.
As suddenly as it came, it was gone.
She straightened and smoothed the dress down and her mirrored
reflection no longer looked inviting and smug, but humiliated and de-
graded. The saleswoman was chattering over her, and she murmured
an apology and almost ran into the dressing room, her moments of
happiness over for the day.
IT kept coming to her, daily. And now, today, it had been stronger
than ever before. She felt ravaged, brutally so, and still it was not
over. Their anniversary party iu tonight, their first, and she had
been trying to prepare for it.
The Hate danced around the kitchen as she prepared the food,
picking up everyday items in its whirlwind path and turning them into
monstrous creations with a will of their own. Eggs broke as she picked
them up; the lettuce withered as she touched it; the wine turned to
vinegar as she added it to the cream sauce. It was everywhere and
everything. It was becoming stronger with every passing minute. She
Hood there crying, fighting it with all within her, stolidly keeping her
hands moving with the minescule details of the party. She swore she
would not let It have this night.
"Everything is done now," she screamed at It. 'TTou cant undo
what is done!" She ran out of the kitchen and ran upstairs to ready
In the shower the Hate joined her, crowding her into a comer, push-
ing, shoving. It turned off the cold water and she screamed again as
she felt the scalding hot water pouring onto her body. She tried to
reach the faucets, but It was there between her and the wall, fencing
her in with its attempt to prevent her reaching them. Finally she
succeeded, and she leaned aginat the wall, moaning with the agony of
Struggle and pain.
She dressed slowly, as the Hate sat on the bed and laughed. Its
hostility was all around her, there was an oppresive weight of it in the
sir. She could sense it, taste it, smell it; yet she could not make it
take substance. All day it had been building, building until now she
gasped for air with the heaviness of it.
She seated herself at the dressing table. Her powder puff, already
dipped in powder, Was in her hand, but the Hate held it motionless;
stopped as a movie is stopped into a still life picture, complete, yet not
complete in its tale.
She gased at the mirror, her eyes searching the turnabout reflection
as though hoping to sec the Hate "m form. A shiver went through her,
for there was nothing, nothing but her own reflection, yet she sat
The door opened and Jeff Stuck his head into the room.
"Almost ready? Everyone will be here soon. Come down and have
a drink with rac. Okay?"
Nadine' s eyes slowly turned to Jeff. She had kept him unaware of
what had been happening all these months. Her eyes remained clouded
for a moment and then cleared.
■'I'll— I'll be right down," she answered. Turning back to the mirror
she raised the puff— and was able to pat her nose with it. She stood
lip, putting the puff slowly down. She drew a deep breath and left the
room, closing the door to keep the Hate inside, although she knew it
would not help.
She could hear the guests arriving as she crossed the vestibule.
"Damn, I won't even have time for a drink first," she thought as
she turned back to let them in.
Sully and Bill were the first ones to arrive. Breathless, as always,
Sally came in, going directly to the living room without pausing to take
off her coat. Marching herself to the table with the hors d'ouevres she
Oohed and Aahed over it, taking a nibble her" and 'here as proof of its
By the time Nadine had retrieved Sally's coat, and hung it in the
closet the next guest had arrived. For a few minutes she was kept busy
and bo was Jeff, hanging coats and murmuring the words of greeting
that came automatically without thought.
Her mind was not on her guests. She could not get the heavy feeling
of fear to leave her. As soon as she could she escaped from the room
to the kitchen where she leaned weakly against the counter. Waves of
sickness kept rising In her, flooding through her.
"Oh, God," she thought. "What is the matter with me?: I feel as
though I am going to die." _
She stood there a moment more gathering her strength for the night a
ordeal. Then taking another platter of canapes, she pushed through
the swinging door to face her guests.
No sooner had she entered the room when panic stricken she stood
there, the tray held precariously tipped in her hands. It came in wave
going to be tonight.
The Hate swept across the room smothering her with galelike force.
It lifted the tray of canapes from her with a quick surge of power.
They fall to the floor. Everyone turned to look and she quickly bent
lo hide the whiteness that masked her face. In the confusion of hands
trying to help her pick up the food and debris, she felt the Hate break
and little chills of silent laughter took its place. The laughter waJ
almost as bad as the Hate for it mocked and derided her. As she
stood up her eyes quickly searched the room over the heads of those
still helping her. Who had come in while she was In the kitchen? She
kept searching the faces of the guests os they sauntered about the room,
looking for some sign of the mockery, something that might show the
Hate that pursued her with such malice.
Pat and Cberi had come in. Clieri had been Jeff's girl before the
quick summer romance that ended In Nadine and Jeff's marriage. Linda
and Ous? Gus was Jeff's partner. Florence and Stan, her husband's
parents, had arrived too. Florence came over and hugged her. Stan
handed her their gift. As she opened it, she thought to herself, "Funny,
I'm like two different people ... 1 never knew a person could carry on a
normal conversation while her mind was on other things." The gift was a
beautifully matched string of pearls for her and a matching set of
pearl cuff links for Jeff. She turned around automatically as Florence
hooked the clasp on them and kissed her saying, "... these are for the
girl my son loves."
Nowhere was there a sign of the Hate. It had left the room quietly
as though it had never existed. But Nadine knew better. She knew it
was waiting, somewhere.
She had to tell someone. But not just anyone. It had to be somnne
she could count on, someone who would care. Her eyes sought out
.Florence would, understand. She was close to Jeff. as a mother, and
.close to Nadine as. a mother-in-law. Nadine could not tell Jeff, could not
bring herself to tell' him. But she had to tell someone. She had to tell
" ... so there I was In the □> iddle of Main Street and the light had
already turned red so I couldn't go back, and there you were holding
onto a lampost, crying, Nadine. Whatever was wrong, anyway?...
The words registered as if they were words from another planet. She
looked up to see Linda standing beside her with a cocktail glass in her
hand, expectant — waiting for an answer. The room was silent, every-
one was waiting for her reply. Even Jeff had come to stand beside her,
looking at her strangely.
"Hey, sweet? How come you never mentioned it?" he asked con-
"Oh, it wasn't very important," she answered. "I just got a little
diaay all of a sudden."
She felt the Hate sweep back into the room again, laughing. It was
mocking her, laughing at her excuse.
She turned to Jeff and smiled up at him.
"Darling, let's have some champagne now," she whispered.
Jeff grinned and put his arm around her saying, dramatically, "I
guess this Is the moment we have all been waiting for."
Stan walked over to them. In his hand was a bottle of the champagne
Florence had saved from that they served at the wedding. He popped
the cork and poured a silver goblet full. Taking the goblet from his
father, Jeff turned to Nadine. The guests were all around them, smiling,
"Darling, this champagne was saved for today, remember?"
"Yes, I remember. I love you more now than I ever did then," she
"That's how it should he. Me too."
He held the goblet out to her. "You first. Then I will drink from
it just as we did one year ago, to show how we'll always share things
Not everything. Not the horror. Her mind whispered. But she
took the goblet and drank deeply of it.
As she started to drink, she sensed the hatred near.
She couldn't take much more. She had to talk to someone — had to
seek help. She spotted Florence. She would have to ask Florence's help.
There was no one else. She lifted the goblet and drank.
She felt the Hato tear Into her, twisting her insides and tearing,
tearing at her, and the necklace seemed to tighten — tighten unbearably.
She gagged and choked as the liquid burned a path down her spasmed
throat and she knew It wasn't a love cup, but a Hate cup. As the
room swam aronnd her, she fell and Jeff crouched over her. She saw
shock and concern mingled on his face and she saw the Hate, saw it
In a way, it was almost good to have it over with, to know finally
whose Hate was that strong. It was a relief to see the look that could
kill and as the darkness closed in the last thing she heard came like a
"ladowy whisper over the mocking laughter ringing in her ears, iay-
Beginning a new regular feature. An all-time great fantasy writer
gives us a peek behind scenes. This time: a glimpse of Ralph
Milne Farley, author of the Radio Man novels,
E. HOFFMANN PRICE'S
» *u? 'Mm:
The fantasy fiction world moves inio the age of nostalgia. Amateur and
rose and sullen garnet crags-the red-cresi.et? uoaiil!* <iia!kii, stirring in the bre-
semi-professional publisher meiiiuilsike fcsvorite authors of long ago. Dealers
eze, like cobras when they hear the Hindu's flute-hut, it is never like lhal
offer, at fancy prices, letters, first draft M3S, photos, and other sacred relics
first crossing, early that morning of April, 1134.
of deceased writers. iJoliege B.1.ijdt*pii.s submit these based upon studies of out-
[Mielher you oot 1 can again discover the lands of wonder packed between
standing performers in this field.
the covers of early issues of Weird Tales. With all the skill won over the years,
And then, there is much rcminisciice of "The Golden Pays" which be[:an
the few writers surviving from the Golden Days could nol infuse their work
when, in 1923, Weird Tales opened strange gateways, revealing lands of won-
with the ancient wonder that they used to feel. For loo long, thev have frater
der. We know when the era began. Disapreemcnt arises only a; to its termi-
nized with Ihe folk who live across the border: thev arc somewhat too much
nation. No one question? thai it has ended.
Well, hardly anyone.
Could a newcomer discover, and write with wonder in the soul?
1 «t have to point out s faOOf app^ctnilv oseHoukeH; rise ?ca t -|es himsslf
Don't know. Find one and ask him. Or her.
and how he changes with the years.
We recall the days before Weird Tales.
"They don't build them thai way anymore, " is the sorrowful summing up
The newcomer can not recall a time when there was nol fantasy fiction.
when speaking, for instances, of cars or of houses. Though the words are not
Neither does he remember when there was no" T. V„ no radio. Me, 1 remember
the same, the spirit is no differs; «iv-..! Ihrre k (;;lk of fiction written during
wiping the soot from inside the glass "chimneys" of the kerosene lamp which
lighted 'he. farmhouse.
the Golden Days. No one bothers to add/'iVeiffcpi- do they r«W them that
' Wherever 1 go, I hear it said that there were giants in those Golden Days.
It was easier to be a Giant then. Today, you got to bust vourseJf to be
We who met tt'eird Tabs in its beginning eulered new lands. ,1rgojy and
others had for years offered the oncc-in-a-while story of the supernatural, (he
even a five-foot-seven, junior pvk Cohath. There was much good work then
There was also a tot of stuff you couldn't sell today. 1 know. I wrote some
of il. I was embarrassed and unhappy as 1 re-read many a pound of tear-sheet
and carbon copy, in trying to find a doisen Yiirsis for m.rrkting in a hard cover
anthology. Some of the freshman -orafiojiitiiiH muck 1 had written-and, had
uncanny, the tale of terror. Never before had there heen a magazine devoted
wholly to the folks and the folk-ways of ''across ihe border."
Heraelitus said, "You can not Hep twire into the mm? rwn, for fresh wa-
ters ever flow about you. "
sold!-I must have led a clean. Christian life to have got away with it. In fact,
Long ago, driving out of Tucson, Arizona, I saw for the first time, the sun
a lot of us must have led clean lives, in those Golden Days.
rise from the Maricopa Desert. Oyer the (feats, 1 have made that drive, lime
I am not here to analyse, evaluate, «tt«a»i, nut U) decide which was lit-
and again, sunrise and sunset-Picacho Peak to Gila Rend-the grim, iron pur-
erature, and which was Krap. My chore is to poke the ash-veiled embers of the
ple shadows of sterile black peaks-tall sahuaros, arms reaching skyward-ash-
past, and invite you to watch the sparks of memory as they're wafted up-
tnrd; to tell of the fantasy fiction business of long ago. First, 1 11 say a thing
B two, not mentioning names, about current fiction, As to style and treat-
ntnt, some of it is better than 3 lot of what the Golden Days offered.
It has to be.
Readers and Writers: the Golden Days are here and now. Just an they were,
fort)' years ago and more. Now that that is settled- "Sing, Muse, of days re-
•inhered and of those neatly forgotten-"
Mnny-pcrhaps most-of those who appeared in the old time fantasy maga-
a were amateurs in (he lose sense of the inni Afilsoiisih they got rash for
their stories, those writers were lovers of the art and the craft. Fur them,
■riling was a mode of srilf-cXTrrcssion, a creative work, a hobby. When u fult-
iitts professional did a story for Weird Tales, it was for the fun of it. Kales
»ere low. Payment often was long delayed. And this brings to memory one
.ho went to extreme in wjitisij! tor tin: Iw? of it. Hts te.aj, his business, and
lib political activities imkt Ulfe s'lf-cvidcnt,
rlisclientskncw him as Roger Sherman Hoar. His yarns appeared under the
ly-line, Ralph Milne Farley, a synthetic composed of his mother's maiden
Hint, and other family names, I had Sung addressed him as "RMF" before 1
lamed that this was not his "real" name. He was well known in Argosy and
other publications before W<:ini T»k.i ■i<-.zn-4 the lauds of wonder.
Although it appears that RMF spwaiked its fantasy, oniy a dedicated re-
(Hither could deteifroiie r.hs? scope oi his fictkmccring. It was because of one
olliiamost improbable projects thai 1 finally met him. Atihittm of 1934, RMF
hi plotting the num)>er three i!jdsode of the Jim Oiant series of lead novels
[«■ True Gang magazine.
What made this even more incredible was the rate: one half of one cent
Hr:Tir:tnbf:r thai tin; wos long ;«>, w lifts tin; jjan^lec ^v m -.- gbmori?t<i, iss-
Mtd !■» lisiiij! raaiisl.ieallv pcsciits .1 a~ s:> (.xlnrsiiotwr. pimji, tiSif^otJCK-pinh-
(f.jwtetoft-peiflw, and' a II- around hoodlum.
In the number three episode, Jim Grant and his henchmen were in trouble
because of a rival who had connections in San Francisco's Chinatown. My
pod friend, Otis Adelbert Kline, asked me to team up with RMF, and do the
Chinatown stuff. RMF would furnish the plot and all the series lags and uliar-
KtsirisstioriB; i>? would IrsltrKriSte my first drat! will. She story's p^iidccissors.
Ik tied ilreiidy written She f^.'.'smig chspltrs. A« for irioispiatiliiia s phase of
Qsicago gjin^sfsrt'e operutitiits in Sit;: Frsfsiijsf-o*^ Chinatown. S needn't be ■!
Itickler for plausihiiitv. No holds barred, except that certain kev characters
mutt not be killed off. And, naturally, those must be presented sympathe-
a'eally-lhe gangster- hero, however far outside the law, had to be simpatico-
■ really nice guy!
I repeat, trie rate was one half of one cent a word, and RMF and I would
iplif the micro-check. Writing for the love of it-see what i mean';
limes were had in 1934, but not THAT bad] After a long walk, devoted
to much cogitation, I composed a statement entitled "THOUGHTS' WHILE
STROLLING", ijv'wg seaiiori; whv my ■w.-bnoi bov c>qifrn-(-.r:e« with Chines.':
lottery and San Jose Chinatown were inadequate. That my knowledge of
sitings (rsinw had been grossly naggers led. 1i mchided only nu-As hiiitrknis
events as a gun battle in which members of warring tongs blasted away un-
til they run out of ammunition-net result, one warrior scratched bv a flying
(tier of wood'f
I hud never met a highbinder, a hatchet man, or a slave-girl, except in the
KWpsper columns, and I'd never been in an opium den, and I'd not recog-
Bleyen shi (pipe scrapings) if you fed me a spoonful.
All that 1 said was used against me. He declared that my entire statement
ndicated a broad and deep knowledge of Chinatown, and of the Oriental
mind, 1 set to work. The job was fun. Even more so was the correspondence
ijciikntal to the job, 'The. e*-s>hssg.s- !| i 'f Iters tva* .:,:. much stt expression of
edsibilih', go»d IMIowship, of whimsy anil the joy <:>> \Wtac. •■:■ ii wa« ;tory
I'mtnickn and story structure.
This was a splendid build-up for our meeting, June 1 933, when RMF came
toSiti Francisco to attend to some legal matters.
My wife and I met him at the Place Hotel, and drove him down the "Penin-
mls' to our home in the hills, a couple of miles outside Redwood City, and
Berlooking San Francisco Hay.
Beginning as disaster on the hoof, 1934 had ended in a landslide of sales.
We fought an ultra- mod est cottage, one third down and payments too trifling
to be a problem; also, a second hand Terraplane to replace that horror of a
Model A Ford. All this, tick-tick, and now, a distinguished guest, a veteran
fctionetr, I was having Golden Days of my own. ...after a couple of grim and
RMF was not far from sin feet tall, and lean, angular of face. Whether na-
builly swarthy, or deeply tanned, I could tiol decide. His head of hair, casu-
jly flung back yet all in order, was quite blaek, with a few while ones as
accents. The eyes, I think, were blue-gray-how the years play tricks with mem-
ory!-bnt whatever their color, they, like the man himself, n'ere all alive, mag-
netic, so very vital and, exceedingly friendly, His presence was the realisa-
tion of his many letters.
A detail persists in my memory: when hi. mentioned home and family, he
did not. speak of "Elva" or of "mv wife." Instead, he used the old fashioned
mode, giving it grace and charm when lie referred to "Mrs. Hoar," He pro-
nounced the name in two syllables, with an ever so slight yel unmistakable
that anv other
-tilted or forn
his <■* pfcwHSiH
e seemed less than appropris
His voice, his enunciation subtly suggested that this lady rated somewhat
higher than other ladies. It was fascinating I • hear the intonation, and catch
the lilt, the cadence, the affectionate savoring of the name he spoke. The most
s'i/rJU: ■";)' noiucf; -yet, Siviog with oii', tlvsc niGrt thajj ihiriv-Civir vi Mn. ....
My best guess is thai HMt was then nudging fifty. His vitality, sparkle, his
rs'iisiiiag of ever\ shade e-f nurd<;i>d ihowitht aodpiijicripnc!-. jnighi have madf
him seem younger than he actually was.
1 have no reeol!e«»ii ul out fofid and drink.
We said nothing memorable, except for one phase, during which he told
us of a strange encounter, in Maine or Vermont. My wife and 1 were deeply
impressed. I suggested that he had exchanged words with an Adept, a Master,
a Mahalma RMF- neither agreed, nor rmtradicted.
1 can not reconstruct that simple, sohcr narrative, I know onlv that the
mood snr! ihc hcMne, rather Hist, the tenth, isnd :„rh isrspa.-.f thsMkse mo-
menta are important in my recollection of HMF.
landmarks of 7W. witl his sawed off
shotgun -there was where beautiful Tien Yuk made her final, fatal play, to
sacrifice herself and warn Jim Grant of danger-
We put in a few hours at the Chinese opera Ihen, back to the flare Hotel,
where we took leave of RMF.
later, that year, he revised a New Orleans crime novelette which had be-
more unsalable each time I reworked it. His touch did it and we split the
check. Hetter yel, 1 had learned a thing or two.
After some years of the mo omradel -ping in touch with each other,
»f ''•:•! .".orilaei. The vi-ar? o:':;f: fr ( .«|, ,.y,;i.,
new directions. . . Writing from New Zeeknd. "■"flioni*;* G.L.C^ckcroft gave
me RMF's address. Yes, I'd lost it. May, 1963, 1 wrote, saying that I was driv-
ing to the east coast, and that I anticipated most sdgsriv having a few words
Mrs. Hoar answered for him, telling me that in 1951, Roger had a coronary
and that since then, his health had been faihnr; That usn.il 1961), he. had prac-
ticed law, with a Milwaukee firm That now he saw onlv members of the fam-
ily. This was the jolt, the slug! Sadly, I read on:
Roger had missed both his Harvard, and his Harvard Law School 50th re-
unions. One of their grandsons was graduated from Annapolis, class of62.
A younger grandson had appointments for both Annapolis and West Point, to
enter in 196,'!. The lad would prohablv choose the former. Roger, she added,
was a retired Army colonel-this I had never suspected! -whereas she came
from a long line of whaling captains.
Conies now a mishmash of statements which I can not guarantee. RMF
had for some, years been associated with Bucvrus-Erie. an Ohio Corporation
which manufactured heavy machinery. He had served in the Massachusetts
State legislature. He had an outstanding S.-nowl-dj... and experience in the
Several years after getting Mrs. Hoai a gracious letter she went to far more
trouble than my message merited! I learned that a Canadian Fantasy faiicier
had learned from one in Great Britain, that Ralph Milne Farley-Roger Sher-
man Hoar-had died. In lieu of condolences, I set down these lines of appre-
ciation, and my happy memories of long ago.
There is so much that I do not know of RMF, and so little that I do know,
that, as one fan pointed out, 1 really had nothing to write. This in a way is
ejltii-eiy correct. Yet this I must set forth!
That RMF to a good friend and a good comrade during my early profes-
sional years. I learned some things from him las words we wrote and the
words we spoke to each other arc long gone but I still recall the. man, and
picture him, however time-blurred the image is. There is nothing clear, today,
except that the few hours we spent, in 1935, remain alive and vivid, so that
detail) are immaterial Ilifs persistence in ;sv memory. I think, is something
which speaks for itself, and tells what manner of man this, "R.M.F," was.
Such memories are the reward of my years.
To him who is moved to say thai there could really not he much substance
in so few hours of face to face association. I offer these Chinese, lines: Thii
hoar can not return: a shred of time is worth a bar of gold.
THE JADE FAdODA «7
How Far Must a Man Go— to Feed a Pet?
byA.E. van Vogt
ILLUSTRATED BY ROBERT E. JENNINGS
Murk Gray s main pleasure in life was feeding rats to his pet python. He
kepi the python in a blocked-*) IT room in the old house in which he lived a-
lone. Each mealtime, he would put the. rat in a narrow tunnel he had rigged.
At the end of the tunnel was an opening. The rat, going through the narrow
space into the bright room beyond, automatically ;-;j wing-locked a gale across
vitb the pythoi
Mark liked to listen to its squeaks as it became aware of it* danger, and
then he would hear its mad scurrying to escape the irresistible enemy. Some-
times, he watched the exciting scene through a plate glass window, but he ac-
luallv preferred the w.-Jini I" tin: »ij:ht, .■.nmiiri
pteinrw. always from the ™wpi.int «f the (»yl
During World War III, the U.KA. forgot to :
Ditching of rath got no special f.rmriU. Kai .
, rm cd forces readily*., the olher people. TV-
Mood, he said smugh
•Jeri of tin- imagination you
r, .* thai. thcr<
pylhim was fed
Then one da
window of an ol
■far room mrj. .
make out that i
«an a large
of the cages con
Hi: made it I
r the front
his breath, lie n
,lict'(t the w
fji. found hi
title while- to a
raet ihv att
wt other dell
s such as i
ihr forgotten i
an. Hut aft
,e made a p
al thi rip
he marled. "Si
y away fro
well have tin' 1
It seemed Us Mark, *
locked, and lhal th.' n
Inimore.rlly, hal.y sill"
ilicil Mark am! his hobhv, finished, "1 suppose it's a matter of
Hut I won't feel *"■•■ jjiiiiS. VaHitnWK' sU«- vi.' a ks ovtr tonight
nuil iiil.iil tries to steal some of our rats " He grinned mirth-
iu think of anvllii.li; lower than a rat sl.:al.T?"
on hesiliileil, hill only for moments. Millions of people were
g. and it lest absolutely had to he made on a human being. Be-
lli Hi" w i t ur n ! " th effect of surprise might
lied, "there'll be no evidence against lift So go
jmc stealthily hack that night, that these people
ould never miss the equivalent of one rat a week
.erl when lie discovered that the window was un-
rii' was unguarded. No doubt, he thought good
rats were in scarce supply because of war-time
again to the familiar sound of a rat mpicaking in
■veiling, Lis phone rang. It was Kric Plode.
mall man in a vicious tone. "Mow. you must pay
» issued the warning. "He it on his own soul," he
grimly, he ,
"Well, Hank," he sail
The remark made 1'lode frown a little. He had a I
thoughts, anil he had often thought recently. "Uoo.l
M the ,,..
but they v
. of the
|> contemptuous. I .ct them try to prove anything.
lhat nieht, he seemed to he suffocating. He woke up, and he
n his bed hul instead was on a hard floor. He groped for the
i could not find it. There was. a bright rectangle of light about
iv. lie headed for it.
e slummed shut hehind him as lie emerged.
vasl mom, larger than anything he had ever seen. Vet it was
r. r.xcepl for its size it resembled the room in which be kept
in front of him, an object that he had noticed and regarded W
,atherv rug thicket than he was tall, stirred, and moved lowMii
dark Gray experienced the ultimate thrill of the strange
njoyed lifi for so nuny years . . . Experienced it
.,. nnil „.,lv lime frsrs. lb vicwi.«mit of the rat.
TEE BAT AND THX UMKI
ILLUSTRATIONS RV Tlil i^idi^ *^
ILLUSTRATIONS BY TIM KIRK
Once upon a time, dragon-killing was the biggest sport
in England. But the dragons, who weren't very hot for fun
and games, decided things were getting out of hand and
emigrated. Some just flew across the English Channel
(whereupon the French took up the great British pas-
time}. A few went to Argentina. A large group went to
America, which hadn't been discovered yet and was rela-
tively free of freaks in tin cans on horses with lances and
all that. But most of the dragons settled in purts of
Europe. One of these dragons was named Bruce.
Now Bruce was sick of all the other dragons kidding
him about his name, so he set out on his own. Quite by
accident, he wound up In Transylvania. Since the peas-
ants were plump and other dragons apparently avoided
the place, Bruce was fat and happy for about a month —
until the first full moon.
Dragons, you see, are sensible and follow the habits of
the people who feed them, so Bruce worked in the daytime
and slept at night. He was understandably annoyed when
he was awakened on the night of the full moon by a loud
howl from near the entrance of his cave and he grumbled
aa he peered out. There sat a wolf In peasant's clothing.
Bruce blinked, but the wolf was still there. So like a
true dragon, Bruce let out a good fiery belch. Now, the
peasants In Transylvania are inclined to be garlicky, and
Bruce had snacked late that night, so the wolf was over-
powered by his breath and burned to death. But all Bruce
saw was a charred peasant, and he resolved to consult an
Just then a huge bat flew Into the cave, perched on
Bruce'a back and bit him on the neck.
Bruce turned his head with a great roar and glimpsed
a pallid man in a cloak gnawing his neck. At that, Bruce
panicked. Freaks in tin cans were bad enough, but cloaked
men who bit dragons were too much. He shook loose his
agitator and flew off, back to the dragon colony In Stock-
"Boys," he said as he arrived. "Guess who dropped in
on me tonight I"
EMBARKATION OF EVIL
The blanket of fog lay thick and strangling on the har-
bor. Robed in the swirling vapor, the dark figure drew
closer to the ancient ship that seemed suspended between
the dank billowing shrouds. He leaped silently onto the
deck of the vessel and stole noiselessly into the forward
The agent did his job well. The large boxes were stowed
in even rows, readily accessablc. His efficiency would never
be proclaimed, however, for even now his cooling, bloodless
body awaited day and discovery In the dingy office. The
Baron exulted as he lay down on the mouldering earth in
the first bos and lowered the heavy !id. Soon he would
be in reach of the more heavily populated areas of Europe.
This time there would be no mistake.
At what he guessed to be midnight or close to it, he
heard heavy boots walking the deck above. The captain
returning, no doubt. As the tide once Again reached flood,
the creaking of block and tackle and rattle of chain indi-
cated the ship was leaving Its Black Sea port
After a time, in the black wooden confine! of Ids vam-
pirlc refuge, the Baron once again tensed the approaching
night. Catlike stealth carried him through the blackness
of the hold onto the spray blown deck. Past several still
figures gating Intently out on the dark sea he crept until
at last he came up behind the helmsman. Hie bloodluat
was strong. The Baron leaped ferociously at the broad
back of the sailor, only to crash heavily into the great
wheel. Amazed he real lied be had passed completely
through the man.
A low chuckle made the maddened vampire whirl fiercely
to face a large man in archaic sailing dress. ' "Welcome,
Meinhccr. I sec that you and I serve the same Master.
I am Captain Van der Decken and the ship you have
entered upon. . . . Melnheer, have you ever heard of Der
by Leo Tifton
In a cave at the edge of the Desert of Salt Tears there
dwelt a seer of such fame and accomplishment that many
knew his name though they lived far beyond the desert's
borders. And to the seer's dwelling place there came
daily, pilgrims whom he turned away, having vowed never
again to tell the future for any man.
One day there came to him a young man In the raiment
of a desert warrior but the seer knew him for a king and
a man of great bravery. "Turn me not away," said the
"For years, King, I have turned away every man who
sought me." His voice was solemn and quiet, yet as
commanding as the thunder of the distant seas upon rocks.
"Do you so easily pierce my disguise?" shouted the king.
"You are Indeed a prophet. I am determined that you
should tell my fortune now, more than ever."
The seer gazed upon the man and knew how great he
was, a compassionate man of much wisdom who could lead
a people to prosperity and peace. But In his soft voice
the seer said, "I have ceased to tell men the future. Even
"But I must know," protested the king. And each time
the seer refused him, the king asked again and again until
far in the night when the seer realised he could not sway
So the seer gathered kindling and built a fire of prophecy
that in its smoke he might see this young king's future.
And the smoke grew thick and blank so that within It
there took shape the phantom form of the city of the king
and the king himself, still young, no more than a month
of days older. And the smoke showed the army of the
king and the armies of his enemies. And the armies ,of
his enemies pounded at the wails of the city, over sweeping
It, slaying the soldiers of the city and, at last, the young
and valiant king.
The seer stared at the rising smoke and thought of
others who had vomc to ask him of the future, He re-
called the vow he had made and the reasons for the vow.
Looking up at the king he said, "I see a destiny of
greatness and a reign of greatness and plenty, of pros-
perity and peace over a happy and blessed people."
And the king heard and, satisfied, he left. So for a
long time the seer sat in his cave as the fire died and the
smoke drifted away. And when it was gone, he raised his
voice and cried out a great curse against the darkness of
In a chaotic region left over from the realm of the demons who held
sway before the coming of man's gods, Cromek found the Tower-
and a sorcerer who used him like chattel for his magic.
by David A English
ILLUSTRATIONS BY STEVE FRITZ
^*he cries of his pursuers, deprived by distance of all humanity, drifted
up the mountainside. Like the baying of hounds. Oh, very like. For
the time being he crouched in the sparse concealment of a narrow copse
and watched. Laxil's mamelukes wander aimlessly over the lower slope.
Cromek was not encouraged. They would pick up his trail before
long. And soon it would be their strength against his — and they were
many . . .
Maybe this would teach him better to avoid the snare* of women, he
reflected bitterly. Although it was a litttle late 'l be making maxims
for future guidance. The mystery-priests, most likely, had all the
maxims he was going to need.
He only hoped Laxil would deal as sternly with his deceitful con-
cubine. Small chance of that, though. She was wonderfully sly and had
probably already persuaded the old fool that Cromek had led her
astray. Cromek laughed, not pleasantly.
As he watched, the horsemen gathered into a tight squadron once
more, Having picked up his trail, they rode into the pass.
Cromek abruptly brought his thoughts back to the present. He
quickly determined on a final sleight to gain time.
Slapping the flank of his weary steed, he sent the animal galloping
down the main trail. When Laxil's men emerged from the pass, the
horse would be out of sight. Perhaps they would follow the false trace
for a while. He doubted it.
With hope or without it, Cromek ran to the mouth of a raw-edged
deft that iplit the tide of the looming cliff. Even if It led nowhere, at
least it waa narrow and would be an advantageous place to stand and
sell his life dearly.
He proceeded cautiously up the slide of scree that formed a kind of
floor to the cleft. Tile debris was treacherously loose, and he did not
want to start a rock-slide that would persist after his passing and
A change in the quality of his pursuer's voices warned him that they
had emerged from the pass. He cursed. He could not reach the upper
end of the cleft before they came abreast of its lower opening and were
in a position to observe him.
In the seconds that remained, he wedged himself into a narrow
Assure. It did not completely conceal Ilis big body, but he hoped the
broken shadows would distort his outline enough so he would not be
Cromck looked around, surveying the possibilities, which were few
enough. At the upper opening of the cleft, half embedded in Broken
rocks and gravel, stood » great boulder. He decided that he wanted
that boulder at his back if he must stand and fight. If they succumbed
to his trick, however, he would try lo lost himself in the mountains.
That was all he had in the way of plans.
Damn Lsiil's won- it-
Down below, Cromek's pursuers wheeled and milled. Ansiously, their
quarry peered and cocked his ear, trying to discern their intentions.
Their voices reached him loud but incomprehensible, confused by echoes
and the singing of the blood in his ears.
He could not tell what decided them. Perhaps his horse, with mis-
guided loyalty, had returned along the trail. Or some sleuth, too wily
by half, had noticed that the hoofprints v
t those of an animal
lf ing a
suddenly dismounted and began t
climb the narrow path.
Cromek broke from his covert and scrambled toward the boulder, the
goal he had set himself. Facing Laxil's dosen was no pleasant prospect
under any circumstances, but braced against that stout backstop he
would make a moiety of them bleed before they reaped his head to
gratify Laxil's stupid jealousy.
When he attained the boulder, he turned to look back. They had come
•bout half-way. But now their steps were slowing.
They saw the advantage he enjoyed, such as it was.' And each one
privately was beginning to fear that he might not be among those who
went back to receive Laxil's praise. The pursuit was turning into one
of those ludicrous races where the prise goes to the loser.
In his impatience with its slow approach, Cromek turned from the
creeping doom below him. In the shadowy valley on the other side of
the ridge, he saw age-blackened r
the brown, hummocky grass, and a 5
gase, looked wicked and menacing.
And even this dismal prospect, gods had decreed, he was not to
attain. No need even to think of the broad, blue vistas of plains beyond
that, or the snow-covered peaks of the farther reaches of the mountain
range. These were lands of escape, lands of freedom and never-dying;
lands, if that must be, which he would n
urned to the o
wordsmen of Laiil and drew his sword.
shook it at them and whirled it about his head in the high sunlight
until it was as a glory around him. He raved at them and cursed them,
calling down bloody death for those who fell under its glancing beams.
Slowly and more slowly still they came on. And Cromek grew even
more furious that he should get his bane from such nidderings. Through
mere numbers they would overcome him, and what renown could they
expect from that?
In the end it was not cunning or valor or might in battle that saved
him. It was sheer rage and despair that finally inspired him, a will to
survive that was ravening and mad in its intensity.
No man in his right sense would have attempted what he did. No
one lacking a lunatic's demon-given strength would have succeeded.
In all the region around him tlierc was only one missile sufficient for
his blaaing wratb. The boulder itself, the landmark on which he had
first fixed his eye from far below.
At first he grappled with it face to face, as one who would heave it
up above his head and hurl it down. He was as crasy as that with rage!
But even Cromek's mighty back was not adequate for that heroic feat.
But he felt it wobble! He felt it move!
It rocked— as a loose tooth might twist in its socket.
As by a levin-bolt of revelation, vistas of possibility were illuminated
for him. They spread out like those regions of freedom he had a
moment before beheld. Men experiencing far less in the way of illainiiw-
TOWUt Or BLOOD
(Jon have claimed unmediated converse with the god*.
Cromek leaped to the opposite aide of the boulder and set his back
against it. He dug in hia heels and heaved.
Muscles of back and legs knotted like ship's cables under hia copper;
akin. The veins lay like tangled ropes on hia brow and sweat slicked
his straight, black hair to gleaming rat-tails.
The bones of hia hack crackled audibly.
One more effort — only one more . . . and then another.
"By the gods," he croaked, "it moves — it gives — way — "
Nearly blind and numb with the titanic expense of strength, he hardly
knew what progress he made— if any at all. The air seemed suffused
with murky redness, or did the very veins of his eye-stones leak under
Then there was a sudden great rending like the bursting of his vital*.
He thought the effort had been too much, had killed him: for in void and
emptiness he floated, permeated with unendurable ecstasy.
The return of hia spirit found him stretched on hia back under a
night sky throbbing with monstroua etars. Thunder and squealing filled
his ears, which might have been the tumbling of the boulder and the
dying of Laxil't men ... or only ghosts of his disordered senses.
Slowly the blackness leaked out of the sky. The monstrous stars faded.
Cromek, staggering a little, descended to the shambles. Broken
bodies sprawled about like pieces of a chess game that had ended in a
fit of temper. The boulder, horribly smeared, choked the narrow
entrance of the cleft.
It was grisly work rummaging among the mashed company. Never-
theless, be would need provisions for his journey. And he thought it
fitting that I.axil should render up the parting gift he had so oafishly
forgotten. Cromek was far too familiar with the red fruit of battle to
let superstitious dread stay him.
But something very like terror lunged in his guts when a voice nearby
"Cromek . . . atrange one . . . hated of the goda ... you will die
In a moment he regained bis compoaure. _
"How is this?" he asked "You still live? But not for long, I think.
How did the crumpled thing on the ground draw breath for speech r
Its skull was soft and pulpy, a single great bruise, and the tormented
eyes stared divergently from puffed slits.
"You will not out-live me long," the thing panted, each word a pink
bubble bursting. "You dare not return the way you came, and beyond
the ridge lies the valley of the sorcerer Morophla, and the hellcat
"Br q-.:rl, man." Cronuk growled. ' Get your dying done.
"1 w.ll be silent long enough. You will pay for ray death. You will
suffer worsf than I. Evil dwella in that valley, in that tower. Terrible
e.,1 Monstrous form' and hellish tortures long drawn out. Ugly, ugly.
Vile transformations of bodv and spirit. Tilings hideously awry. You will
suffer it all. Y...i wi'.l pay 'for my death. You will— will- "
The |.a.o of '■
whelmed him suddenly. His
p dissulved in hlubhenng.
"Sow llay me, Crnmrk ! Quickly!'
Cri.mek br. his lip, then picked up the man's sword and struck off
his head. .
Little .-nuugh had Cr..mek liked the valley on first seeing it from
above He liW it sti'.l less as ita ugly slopes rose above his head. The
threats of a man half a corpse did not make it more attraetive.
Almost willfully, crawling weeds impeded him. The tough, tangled
stalka clung to his ankles with a kind of lechery.
Even the rocks and pebbles had a kind of inherent wrongness. They
seemed not to have sprung from any normal processes of weathering
and flaking. They might have been formed in some iong-gone age when
even the powers of air and frost were different. They resembled the
broken forms of dreams, the haunting shapes of delirium.
Of this aick stone were built the ruined walls that rose like the backs
of snake* out of the long, yellow grass.
The air grew cold as he went lower. The sun hid behind the mountain
range and let the valley aink in gloomy twilight. A clammy mist distilled
itself from the heavy air to freight the landscape with dire ambiguity.
He didn't like it, walking blind into that auspicious terranl. In the
sudden fog he could hardly make out the cruel tower that atruck like
a fiat from a grave at the dismal sky,
Cromek unsheathed his aword. The weapon gave him no reassurance.
It cut easily through the fog-phsntoms that crowded close upon Mm—
too easily to have any effect.
He preferred fighting something which, when cat, stayed cut.
Nearby, pebbles rattled on the path. But the m»t was too thick,
he could not *ee the »pot wb*« bis ears placed the disturb*™*.
M WITOHORAJT * BORORRY
Which way was he going now ? Which way out of this valley of night-
mare? The filthy chill of the malefic fog penetrated his bonet, causing
a dolor like the remembrance of mortality What was that? Some-
thing panted close by.
"Who is it?" he challenged. '"Man or devil, come no nearer—"
Squealing laughter. He heard the slithering movement of many
bodies, supple as rats.
Something big and black fluttered past him and Its stinking wing
brushed hia face. On its second paaa he was ready for it and atruck it
out of the air with his sword.
Softly throbbing it lay at his feet. At first Cromek thought it was
a man with a dark cloak crumpled about him. But the cloak was actually
part of the creature, a leathery membrane that made its longer-than-
human arms into the winga of a bat. Its face also was a bat's, a blunt
snout; but there was human intelligence dying in ita tiny red eyes.
He saw then that the valley was no natural place. It was part of the
old domain— a chaotic region left over from the confused realm of the
demons who held sway before the coming of man's gods.
The mist parted a little to reveal the terrible form that loomed over
Well, now he knew. He had been driven here by the soft threatening
and prodding of shapes in the darkness— herded like a aheep by phan-
tom dogs. The tower hung over him.
The door swung open, A figure slood outlined against the green.
decaying glare from within.
Cromek saw no advantage in flight. Nor was it to hia liking to be
hunted down in the crawling fog, hounded by stinking bats.
Sword raised, he charged.
Light exploded in hia face, a fierce glare that drove like cold iron
through the portals of his eyes, deep into hia brain, flooding it; and all
senae, all impression rushed away from him . . . away . . . away. . .
For the second time in too brief an interval, Cromek had to drig
together his scattered senses. At first only cool touches and confused
sounda reached him in the humming void.
Then a pale oval framed in darkness moved across the quivering red
veil that hung before his eyes.
He moved hia hand through the veil. Strangely, it felt like many
thicknesaea of cobwebs. But that was only the tingling in his finger*.
The redneas cleared.
d him. "You are indeed
strong—to recover so quickly."
Cromek, too sick to care, regarded her. He saw no need to act until
he had better appraised the situation. He did not doubt it was bad,
"You are very self-possessed, aren't you?" the woman said. "You
stir not, neither do you question me. You would press the burden of
speech on me, is that it, dear Cromek?"
She laughed, lightly but not sweetly.
"You are surprised? But I kno» loany things about you, not just
your name Am 1 n..t L'athacht?"
"Are you?" he said, and iha; mndi her laugh.
He knew thai she was. A man m.in Oian half a corpse had promised
him this meeting ■ and worse
Tall and well "haven, that was the fashion of her, and smooth of skin,
which was like the snow drilled again*: a gravestone. Her hair was
black and fragrant as the smok. of herhi -hat burn on •> demon's altar.
But her eyes: he «n rtnund'ii of those nameless gems, dusky and
translucent, employed hy desert tnbe»nvii in '.heir malignant rites.
For all her comeliness, CromrL disliked her The gale she bent upon
him was avid, '.on hungry to bode well And he had heard ill rumor*
When he spoke it was more for relief of the discomfort he felt in
her gaae than for desire of conversation with her.
"You have an ugly way of greeting wayfarers. It was not my
intention to intrude, and bad you not stricken me I would have passed
Usthacht bared smalt, white teeth. Perhaps she meant to smile,
but there was no kindness in it
"That would not have pleated me, Cromek," she purred. 'But if
the choice had been mine, a softer way would have been found of gaining
"Then . . . there are uthers here?"
"One other. Now hush — he comes."
She pressed him back on the couch and closed hi* eye* with a pact
of her pale, cold fingers.
The door opened with a (oft hi**,
"Has he awakened.'"
"Not yet, Morophla."
"That is as you say," he sneered. "1 know your ways, lady."
When the man called Morophla laughed, it was not an expression t>£
mirth. If he had Birth, it was thin and cruel as a hlade, and he kept it
within for his own pleasure- His laughs..- seeded only to indicate con-
tempt for the one he addresaefl A sharp expulsion of breath through
his ilustrlig sufficed.
"Let him feign sinofisejinisticss nil he likes — crudely though he does
it. But let him plainly understand that 1 can at will make the fiction
Uathaeht said, "I sec that my brother is phased to have another on
whom to hone his sharp tongue. Open mm eyes, Croruck. Gaze on the
author of your discomfort."
Cromek did as he was bidden, not gr&refidlv. Ilia smouldering glance
engaged with that of the tall newcomer.
Hii eyes. Almost, Cro.uek's fell before them. A plenum, paradoxically,
of emptiness harbored there. Cromek had seen their like only once
hefnre, ill the eyes of a moon-priest of Ishtb, who claimed to have
shared that sphere's monthlv decline into non-being. Morophla, too,
had eyes that had been scoured by the obscene mvsteries of the Void.
Warily, Cromek rose from his pallet. In n low crouch, like a wrestler
stalking his adversary, lie eased forward. He advanced dubiously, for
he suspected the other's powers. But at least he would take their
Cromek's huge hand shot out. He intended to tangle it in the black
locks of the wizard's beard and haul him off balance.
He did not do that. His hand, extended to the length of his arm,
closed on air several inches before the wizard's face. Hut the man had
d at all
Cromek jerked back from his uithrtlauced position. He had seen
a comrade, a swordsman who had lost an eve, make similar errors.
His own eyes teemed all right, although he was suddenly aware of an
obscure malaise somewhere behind them. And yet, when be grabbed he
was accustomed to getting—
Desperately, he lunged straight at his opponent, forgetting all
caution, with his arras flung wide.
The lunge prolonged itself as in a nightmare, but he got no closer
to the mocking form. Just in time, Cromek pulled up, barely avoiding
Uathaeht caught f
i befool the
-• =, ;.l)r.i
he rattling and chuckling of their own echo.
Instead of dying sway, the echo mounted to an ear-shattering inten-
sity. Cromek was enveloped bv a formless, crushing pressure. The
syllables themselves seemed to take substance and beat like the sea
against him. He was borne back against the wall and held there.
"He is strong, Uathaeht," the wizard commented. "I can feel the
force he exerts against the words of power. There must be good blood
Uathaeht began haughtily, "Your thoughts flow always in one chan-
nel—" But her voice broke and she grew pale.
"It is well that it does—for both of us. You would not he half so
lickerish, lady, did I not strive to keep the pens filled. Whjrt would
. el ■■ wanton flesh and rounded limbs of lust, no— '
it are, dear sister — save that I sustain us with my science. What good
hen your juices and your heated belly?"
Uathaeht cringed under his words, then blubbered outright. With a
owl, she fled the chamber.
Morophla turned to his captive.. His strange eyes flashed.
"She hankers for you, man. It's been ages since she's had a strange
len to her. So it galls her you should know that her plump flesh, which
doubt not she has shaken in your face, scarce belongs to her at all."
Cromek gazed at him blankly. The wizard flicked him sharply on
play at being stupid. Yot
;o the s
at is wl
'Nothing so ter
lit of ei
d method my science teaches me,
n life a:
es of the
r to re-cr
i, under v
about* believe thei
i had bee
n homely by compi
-as time ii
"You know a great deal,'
of those illusion chambers i
initiated. Morophla tangles your seeing with his magic.
Morophla laughed, seeming to expel a bit of lint from his nostrils,
and said, "While you are explaining matters to your .fear frcind, why
He added bitU-Hv, "Be .oust, already divine yours."
Uflthaeht's eyes glittered with pain and anger. Cromek still did
not like their crazy intensity, but he sensed that in her lay his only
hope. He pressed her baud confidentially before he started again
towards her brother.
Cromek could not ' ' '
When the wizard said eome, C
impalpable except when he sought to
way, wherever Morophla wished.
Morophla took him through tape
flights of stone stairs. One: he saw Ua
behind an arras. The wizard did no
Soon they entered winding tunr.
frequently encountered the hat-things tha<
t that v
moved him this way, that
ridors and dawn winding
ale, sick face peering from
r so pretended.
■ the tower, where they
attacked Cromek in the
? parts fear
'da, "because they spring from
of men and demons that pop-
hed together to do my bidding.
r why j
g filth ai
i prolong a
would get on welt with my sister. It would be a
meeting of minds, such as they are. It is her incessant plaint that our
establishment is gloomy and not conducive to delight. She would have
me, by magic, conjure here some oriental court for her to queen it over,
replete with her personal harem of lusty. . . Cromeks, I doubt not. Not
for her the joy of knowledge and wisdom that need never perish, the
solemn delight of a mand able to grow through endless ages beyond the 1
limits that mortality imposes . . .well, a thousand years of my lecturing
have not sufficed to change her; she remains what she always was."
"You are a great magician," sneered Cromek, "but are a great
coward. Your dread of death is measured by the scope of yonr sorcery,
If you delight in your mind so much, why not die and be free of the
flesh altogether? Why not be mind only?"
The wizard dismissed that with a sniff. "Surely you are not one
of those who imagine that we persist as airy confections in a shadowy
realm beyond death? Mind, sir, Is but a certain form imposed npon
matter. Although this form or pattern can be projected forth from
its material basis, as when in certain dreams of which I am capable I
wander among the beings of other stars and spheres in search of wii-
M WITCHCRAFT 4 SORCERY
dom, it must always retain Its connection, however tenuous, with the flesh
that harbors it. For if the flesh perishes, like a flower torn from the
soil, so does the mind. When a man dies, he becomes nothing— forever !"
Cromek shivered. He would have stood stil) and marvelled but for
the compulsion that was on him. Death and non-being: it was a gulf
that yawned at his feet, drawing him as much as it repelled him.
"Nothing is left when the meat dies and begins lo rot?"
Morophla smiled. "No, barbarian, it is not. The motion of mind apart
from flesh is but a delusion 1 that our languages impose upon us. As
are most of the questions that philosophers debate age after age.
"And yet," the sorcerer mused, "if my mind be but a certain -form
or image wrought in the matter of my flesh, might it not be reproduced
in some more durable material? None of the strange beings whom I
have visited out among the stars knows this secret, true. But who knows?
I have not journeved far in my search for wisdom — and the universe il
Morophla fell silent, lost in, musings, and let Cromek punle over
his speech. It alt sounded like clown's patter to the fighting man, like
words used to mock the pattern and flow of language but convey
Abruptly they entered a great, vaulted chamber at the end of the
tunnel. Cromek found himself on a narrow lip of rock that overlooked
i gloomy pit.
In the murk dnwn there he saw pale figures moving. White bodies
clustered like knots of worms. He shuddered and drew back as far as
the crowding power would permit.
Morophla took down a torch from the wall. Vacuous faces, flabby
and indefinite of contour, lifted to follow its slow am
"Regard your aenana, Cromek."
Thefr huge eves blinked repeatedly at the unaccustomed light, unable
to turn awav. But when Ihe sorcerer withdrew the torch, all interest
subsided. The listless milling resumed, as if with the fading of the
faint memory trace left by the light. A squeaking chattering fight broke
out, and a pair of man-bats, swooping lo.v, drove the quarrellers apart.
Once separated, they quickly forgot one another and their contention.
"You will grow used to the darlings, Cromek."
Without much confidence, Cromek said, "Whatever your wizardry,
you will find there arc some things in which man's cooperation can-
not be compelled."
He had reason to laugh his dirty laugh.
The days that followed became a series of nightmares, or one long
nightmare interrupted by sleep. And sleep itself was no respite, only
the supcrfetalion of nightmare upon nightmare. The events and images
of wakefulness were then redueed to rubbish and built into crazy towers
that tottered, crumbled and fell.
For the wizard was entirely adequate to deal with his captive's
reluctance. There was a demon of lust that dwelt in a crusted stone
jar, and when Morophla poured it forth, straight it flew to Cromek'i
flesh. It did him on like a cloak, and Cromek, released from his cage
Wider the control of some smoky demon, descended into the pit to join
the mating-dance of the pale herd. The fife wailed and the drum rattled,
and be knew their cold flesh,
Stung out of sleep by some recollected horror, he awoke in his cell.
Or had some strange sound penetrated and burst his sleep? Was some-
one near? "It isn't time yet," he protested. But he could not know
Wiat; time in that place was determined entirely by alternating abomina-
tions. He steeled himself, knowing it was useless, against the demon s
It did not come.
Nor did he hear the fife, preparing the herd for the descent of the
god of its sahbat.
A husky voice whispered, "Are you sleeping, Cromek?
"How came you here?" he snarled. "I did not hear the gate.
Uathacht laughed. "Then I must not be here at all. For I could not
pass through the strong ours that cage you, my magnificent animal."
He hurled himself off the pallet and drove his fist at her taunting
mouth. Then howled with rage and pain. His hand felt broken.
"Nay, be careful!" she cried. "It is only a sending. You cannot
touch me, for I am far from here."
Cromek cursed her, a round soldierly oration full of footras and
She said softly, "Do not curse me, dearest. I wish that I could bring
you . . . all of me, not just my voice and seeming. For I think I love
"Yon are strange people, you and your brother. Your hospitality la
strange, but your love i» most strange indeed."
"Oh, please; it is not well that you are used thus, wasted I should
say, on those who arc incapable of appreciating you. But you know the
Strength of my brother's magic. I have a little sorcery, hut it is a
pitiful thing compared with his."
He studied her image for a moment. It was only her likeness that
Stood before him after nil. Her figure, on close examination, seemed
flat and followed the contour of the rugged wall, like a painted image
that somehow moved and spoke.
When he answered her, he spoke craftily: "Well ... if you had no
part in my loathesome captivity, I will admit I grew angry all too
hastily. You are too fair for me to find it easy to hate you.
Her face went soft and vacuous at this flattery. There might be
hope yet. . . .
"But what good is any understanding we might come to?" be asked
bitterly. "Your sending is not yourself, and we can have little joy of
such assignations as this."
Suspicion shadowed her eyes, but Cromek smiled inwardly. He did
not fear that she would divine his true motive; no, not if her magic
were thrice as great. As Morophla said, she was lickerish, and her
headlong infatuation would sweep aside all misgivings.
"And is it for the great love yo« bear me that you ask this? Or
would you merely use me to gain your freedom, then abandon me to mj
"I admit that I like not this subterranean life," he replied, nor It*
pale, cold companions." He cast her as moony a glance as he coold
contrive. "But one of the kindest memories I have from the world of
sunlight is of the touch of your hand."
While he hated himself somewhat, she mused: "What you snggeat'
il not impossible . . . Morophla' s magic is not impregnable . . . His Mr-
cery could be used as well by another.
"Can I rely upon you in this, my lady? After all, he is your brother
A masterful move, he congratulated himself: to shift the burden of
proving good faith to her!
"What good is that to me?" she spat. "I have no love for him, for
he is insanely jealous and thwarts me always. Nor is It meet that •
man should use his sister in that fashion—"
Cromek's skin crawled at the implication. Too slowly, he recomposed
his features, for she read the horror in his look.
"It is not at all as you think!" she stammered. "Let me go now ... I
must think on this ... it will take time to prepare the spell. But do
I dare? Do I dare?"
Her image rippled like a reflection on water; then the sending wsj
In the days that followed he underwent alternations of hope ami
despair. Had his unwelcome insight into her odd way of life caused
her to repent her resolve to aid him? Indeed, bad she ever had any
raeh notion? And was there anything she could do? Against the might
of Morophla" s sorcery?
TOWKB OT BLOOD 67
Meanwhile, the monotonous horror o
f his existence proceeded in Itl
Accustomed channels. At intervals that
made no sense to him, the lusty
enact the vile sabhat.
demon entered into him and he went to
But not really he, for ke was only i
I small screaming thing, an an-
guished shrc«d of eon aciou sues s, thrust
far back into some cranny of
the brain. He- was only that tiny core o
f revulsion against the aboraina-
tions that his flesh worked with the sub-li
uman cavern dwellers.
Afterwards, only imagei and sensatic
>ns remained to him. Nor could
he bear to dwell on them and order the
m in recollection. So they grew
steadily more eon fused, becoming like
a wrack of sickly dreams suoh
as may vaguely poison the ensuing day.
He swore the wizard would pay for
making his own flesh detestible
to him. But when? When?
At length, Uathacht returned to him.
Cromek regarded her, careful, very ,
■areful, not to betray his eager-*
ness. He knew that he must remain i
inreadsble to her and give her
fancy all possible scope.
"I came back," she said.
"Yes; and this time you need a key 1
o enter — like a proper person —
And yet— and
v, hut now I don't know if I dare use
rt, everything is in readiness. Three days at noon
vith tear- streaming eyes and gathered the gleaming
Spider's web, gathered them in my own smarting
appointed time I might bind down my brother's
ssed like a fly in that unbreakable web and cannot
t the bat-things?"
He rules th™ by spells and forces, which he cannot
use in his present state. They would not act on their own to aid him."
But her eyes were wild and confused. With uncertain fingers, she
turned and turned the key on its ring. "Nothing to hinder us, then,"
he pressed. He did not trust himself to snatch the key.
"I am afraid," she whimpered.
Cromek said nothing. Anything he might say could only arouse her
; but her own hot blood would he his most effective advocate.
'.i carry on the debate within herself.
jade her answer her own question. "Don't be angry," ihe
pleaded. "I didn't really doubt you."
With the abruptness of one racing against the onset of misgivings,
Uathacht unlocked the cell and ran in to him. Her long white arms
snaked round his neck. The suddenness of the onslaught was her
The dregs of a hundred
swarmed in his nerves. Th.
cried for vengeance, and that
it seemed— was not there. In
dsions past, thwarted in their time,
ime of a hundred unwilled embraces
, and that which had thwarted vengeance — suddenly,
there. Involuntary as thought itself, his huge fist—
e lay at his feet. Her last breath sighed from her
■iug, and before it was entirely free, siie was dead.
at all. The only r,
led him out of the
Still, he would •
He looked back
i his head,
t he felt «
t having »
ited until s
us" with a c
es set- light i
e had darkened
In the dismal, <
cloak around his !
feared its teeth.
Softly, it said: "Do not slay n
Escape if you can."
"If you do not attempt to stop me, the
"No; even as the god who created
knows us. We are but instruments of hi
so he would not have to bargain for oi
r, he encountered one of Moro-
•d the ceature closely as he wrapped his
it was small and fragile- looking;, but he
Cromek. I offer no resistance.
; wiaard will be angry with yon."
nen knows them, our creator
will. So he chose to make vt
"I intend to slay him. Does he not will that you prevent me
"He may. But he is bound by his sister's spell. His wilt
rtheless, he still hai
Cromek passed oi
T'ffiently he found his way into the tower proper. A feeling of
surveillance had grown upon, though he could not indicate ltf *ouKts,
only guess it uneasily. His skin crawled, as it does before a summer
storm. The rising tide of dread almost drove him to flight now that ha
WITOHOKAFT & 80RCEET
had the chance; but his fear of the magician's inevitable pursuit was
While he could, he must seek out the wizard where he lay entranced
and slay him. He thought of the horrors the magician had already
visited upon him; and that had been only casualty, as a means to an
end. Only a demon of perversion could imagine what he might conjure
up in a vengeful spirit!
But how long would Uathacht's spell retain it* power? The un-
certainty of it was maddening.
The tower was large, the arrangement of its rooms complex. He was
soon confused by the innumerable turnings its corridors took., and became
increasingly uncertain, because of their bizarre shapes, that he had
thoroughly searched every room. His eyes burned and leaden exhaustion
weighed his feet. Sometimes he thought that he was dreaming, trapped
in delirium; sometimes it seemed that the tower, and he himself, were
dreams in a madman's skull. The feeling of surveillance grew.
He had searched a hundred rooms, corridors, closets. In rooms fitted
like laboratories, filled with strange instruments and papered with
Incomprehensible diagrams, he hunted frantically. He had found curi-
ously-shaped vessels filled with blood in various stages of decomposition,
vats in which Afterlings took form in the midst of unspeakable corrup-
tion, and innumerable manuscripts, some of them crumbling with age,
in what he took to be Morophla s hand. But nowliere could he find the
left off tearing the tapestries from the walls of an unused a
encc chamber. "Enough of this!" he muttered.
He suddenly understood that his increasing confusion, the feeling of
surveillance, were the doing of the wizard. Even bound by a prepotent
spell, he could still watch and subtly twist Cromek's seeing—
The Afterling had said Morophla h
vent quickly to the storeroom adjoining one of the laboratories,
in haste lest the unseen Watcher divine his purpose and prevent him.
Prying open the strange- figured urns of chemicals, he soon found what
He carried the heavy vessel to the ground floor and began to dash
its contents on the wooden flooring and walls. A sharp, resinous odor
filled his nostrils.
And suddenly— Morophla was there!
The wizard's rage-distorted countenance glared down upon him.
Cromek shrank hack. In a moment that terrible will would enter into
him like the fingers of those puppeteers you saw in basaars.
But that did not happen, and he understood why. "So you are come
to this, Morophla. No longer do you come like a mighty wave, to toai.
the wills of your victims like shells on a beach. No; the worst you can
contrive now is to project your image and trouble me with your ugly
face, or twist my seeing a little like a hairless old woman engaged in
The wavering form spoke: "Beware, Cromek. Though limited by
that slut's spell, I might yet overcome you."
Cromek laughed and capered.
"But why speak of that?" Morophla said, as one who would dismiss
harsh words spoken thoughtlessly between friends. "Surely it was
no Insult, rather a compliment, that you were chosen. And were the
labors enforced upon you so terrible?
From a heart charred black with horror, Cromek answered: "Yes —
more than filth like you could conceive. I have reason enough to slay
"Be lenient, man, and see if I do not reward you. I can give ■,
He promised much, but Cromek only continued to pour out v.
flammable liquid, a little lingeringly now. When the urn was empty,
he took a torch from its socket and moved to the door. "I cannot find
you, but the fire will. ..."
Mrophla, beside himself with rage and frustration, seemed almost
to lose control of his sending. His grotesque figure, now swelling, now
shrinking, writhed and twisted acrosB wall and ceiling. It danced 111
a flame, like a flame already.
"How can you?" he raved. "Darken eyes that have looked on the
distant marvels of other stars and spheres? Burn the brain that har-
bors the lost secrets of the gods, the most interior mysteries of matter
and energy? No; put up the torch and I will make you co-equal with
me, share my power and my immortality with you."
Cromek hurled the torch. Flame leaped up with a snarl like a lunging
beast. The wizard shrieked.
The hot glare brought tears to Cromek's eyei. He backed towards the
TOWER OF BLOOD
door, watching the flames mutter sod gnaw at the wooden panels. The
tapestries turned to falling, flaming iacework.
"You animal, you cretin!" the wizard gibbered. "You've destroyed
me— but you will die with me!"
Cromek reached for the door, but before he touched it It burst In-
ward. A great, threatening confusion bore down on him — something
that thundered like a stampede, or roared and clanked like a host of
men-at-arms. He couldn't put a name to it; he could only give way
He was driven back through the wall of flame and up the smoky
The attack-— but what attacked? — came on and on, continously
squealing and gibbering. Its high-pitched wail paralysed thought; only
the instinctive reaction of flight was possible.
And suddenly it became an enormous mouth in which innumerable
teeth clashed and ground together. But when it overtook him, it only
gnashed impalpably around him for a moment —
"Yes, Cromek; only an illusion," said Morophla. "But you know
that too late. The fire has already cut off your escape and you must
perish with me."
He smiled sourly. "But don't bother to repent having rejected my
offer. I should not have kept that bargain anyway. This is the only
fellowship we two can have — in the Are, which has a trick of levelling
all flesh. I could not have raised you to my level, although you have
reduced me to yours.
Cromek, no philosopher, ignored him. Before a wall of hot gases
he fled up the tower stairs. He could hardly draw breath to eurse the
sorcerer, whose sending drifted always before him.
The projected image changed from moment to moment. Not only
did it ripple and flicker as it drifted like a shadow or a flame along the
walls and stair-treads, but it underwent other transformation*, more
painful to see as well.
"Yes, murderer, it is your work. The flames have found my body
where it lies bound by the Sun Spider. Oh, you cannot imagine how
painful it is. But I need not describe it; you will learn soon enough.
Of course, you have the option of leaping from the roof. No option
really; you will inevitably do so when the fire touches you. ..."
Cromek could scarcely see the stairs and corridors along which he
fled. But the image of Morophla's disintegrating corpse remained with
him always, sealed within his ciosed eyes; its voice droned in his ears.
"I hate you, murderer!" the thing screamed. "Not just for the
agony I endure. Even if I had to endure it as long as I lived, I would
still choose to survive. For there is much that I would yet leam in the
vaitness of the cosmos and the vastness of the mind — matters that you
and that bitch with your little, animal minds could not conceive of. I
hope you don't die outright when you leap from the tower. Be a long
time dying with the ache of mangled nerves, bone splinters piercing
your guts —
The ooxing, blackened horror shimmered and faded.
"No; I can't follow you anymore. Wanted to see you dying— but I
can't — not strong enough — anymore. ..."
Gone: leaving only a dying curse.
Cromek crawled onto the roof, gasping. Night. Those star* whose
marvels the wizard regretted appraised him and found him of little worth-
Already the boards were hot under his feet. From the trapdoor
through which he had come, the flames leaped: a pillar of fire which,
like Morophla's spirit, clutched at the stars. While he watched, m
cluster of strange instruments, gleaming copper tubes and lenses, sank
through the roof, engulfed by a muttering mouth of fire.
The tower was high and its walls of closely fitted stones appeared
almost smooth. Staring hopelessly down, Cromek felt the dutch of
the gulf at his loins. His belly crawled with its cold stroking.
Nevertheless, he had to attempt that impossible descent. Better to
have his last moments absorbed in sume arduous task than to sit waiting
for the fire to eat through the roof.
Lowering himself over the edge, he sank almost to the length of hi*
arms before his foot found what purported to be a toe-hold. With one
hand on the ledge, he supported himself while he fitted blunt finger*
into a narrow cranny. The effort was tremendous: it seemed that bone
must crack, muscle or tendon tear.
He flattened himself against the wall like a vine or lichen. It wa*
insane, he knew that— already sinews stuttered their plea for release
from a task beyond their capacity. And still he persisted, relinquishing
each impossible toe-hold only to seek another. . . .
He knew that eventually he must fall — drop like a dead fly. But
it would not be willingly. Never would bis soul cry, enough! and order
his cramped fingers to open.
It came as no suprise, however, when his bleeding fingertip* llid
from their precarious clutch.
It was strange when you felt. At such a time, when your weight
was most active, you felt no weight at ell. Almost you were bodiless, a*
in dreams when you drift like smoke across some broken landscape.
The wind, like his own cry, sang in his ears.
There came a beating of leathery wings round his head. Clawed
fingers sank into the muscles of his arms and bore him up. Hi* fall
was not halted, only slowed, and he dropped, struggling in the hand*
of his rescuers, until the earth smashed his knees up into his chest-
When be could breathe a little, Cromek gasped out, "I thank yon for
The Afterling said, "We thank you for ours, now truly ours. In
slaying our creator, our god, you set us free."
"God-slayer. ..." Cromek smiled. "Among my people it is the
bestow vaunting titles : but never have I heard one so grandlote.
Cromek glanced skyward and did not answer.
They gave him food and drink, and would have had him remain with
them, but this last he refused. "You might come to look an me a* joor
He departed along the winding road, the road downward out of the
mountains. As the stars faded and morning came, his thoughts returned
to Moropbla. He did not understand why he should be at such effort*
to prolong a life which, to Cromek, seemed only a mounting o
He ihook hi* head and tried to think of other thing*.
WITOHOBATT A SOBOEBT
The change came, turning him into the killer beast.
But the change faded with morning. . .
By KENNETH PEMBROOKE
ILLUSTRATED BY STEVE FRITZ
He stood hidden in the shadow of the tree, its bark biting into his naked
back, his ears straining for the sound of the crunch of leaves beneath the
hunter's feet. The hunter, a moving shadow among a forest of shadows, passed
the tree never knowing how close he was to his prey until it was too late. As
the hunter passed the man came suddenly behind him and strong hands closed
tightly against the hunter's throat. The hunter tried to cry out, to struggle
free but could not The fingers dug tighter into his throat until he ceased
Overhead, the moon full and bloated, drifted indifferently.
When the killer was finished he stood over his victim for a minute until
breath returned, then bent and stripped his victim. He was naked and very
cold, in need of clothes, and the hunter was close enough to his size. When
he was dressed, he found a sharp pointed rock and began very carefully rip-
ping the flesh from his victim.
It was very important that the hunter look as if he were killed by an ani-
mal, he felt. The rock was not a perfect instrument to simulate claw and teeth
marks, but it waB good enough. Presently he stood hack from his work, look-
ing down at it indifferently. It was good. It was necessary.
He turned and moved into the trees.
He waB a young man, not tall, but lean and guant in the way that a wolf is
lean and guant. He moved among the trees with surenesfi, despite the dark-
ness and his movement was loping, almost athletically graceful and quite
soundless. He moved with such assurance that it came as a complete surprise
to him that he suddenly stepped into a clearing and found himself face to
face with another hunter and that hunter's rifle aimed straight at his chest.
"Damn!" the hunter said. "Boy, you don't know how close you came to
getting yourself killed."
"I-I'm sorry," he said.
The hunter lowered his gun. He gave a rasping chuckle. "God damn, that
would just about do it. Bagging another hunter instead of whatever it is we're
"The wolf," the gaunt man said.
"That's right, the wolf." The hunter peered through the darkness at him
a minute. Overhead light from the full moon poured down, catching the youn-
ger man's face. n
"Say, 1 don't know you, do I?" the hunter asked. "What's your name?
He was hesitant only a moment. "Mann," he said.
"Mann. You're not from around here, are you? I'd know you if you was.
I know everybody in these parts. Hey-what happened to your gun?
Mann realized he had taken the dead hunter's clothes, his knife, his boots-
everything but the man's gun.
"Well?" aBked the hunter.
"I-I lost it. Back there." He pointed roughly in the direction from which
The hunter came toward him, peering at him intently. "You all right, bud-
dy? You seem to be a little. . . I don't know. Flustered, maybe. You see some-
thing back there? Something maybe caused you to drop your gun? "
Mann did not answer.
The older man put a hand on his shoulder and when he spoke, his voic
was mure friendly, n
y about it. I know what
.„ „ nething that scares you. It's no disgrace. They's two of us now.
We can go back and look for it together. The idea of people hunting seper-
ately at night is plain foolishness anyhow, right? "
Mann nodded, unable to think of anything else. "Yes,," he said.
"Now well go back and take a look for your gun and for what made you
drop it, right? That's the way. My name's Charlie Henderson, incidently."
Mann managed a smile. He turned and started back into the woods, Hen-
derson behind him.
He retraced his steps, swearing at himself for forgetting the gun. Henderson
was smart-end alert. He wouldn't be so easy to catch as the other hunter.
Near where the mutilated corpse was, Mann slopped and looked about as
if trying to get his bearings.
"This the place?" Henderson asked.
Overhead the moon was full* Mann looked around again. "I think so."
"Well if you dropped your gun it should be around here, somewhere,
'Then let's have a look for it, all right? "
Mann nodded. He looked around, saw nothing. He turned and saw Hender-
son carefully probing into sumo hushes. Henderson looked up at him. "Well,
get looking," he said,
Mann probed and prodded into the underbrush, pretending to search for
"It doesn't Beem to be around here," Henderson aaid after a while. "You
sure this is the place-?"
"No. Not sure."
"It's pretty dark tonight, even with that moon. I guess maybe one part of
the wooda looks like another part. Let's move on. You feel like telling me
But before Mann could frame an evasion there came a sound. It was the
sound of something moving through underbrush and both men whirled to-
ward it At the edge of the clearing a wolf crouched-and ae the men whirled,
the wolf sprang.
With a snarl of pure hatred, the creature leaped straight for Mann, fangs
bared, ripping toward the man's unprotected throat. But Mann ducked and
rolled to the ground with greater speed than he seemed capable. The wolf
landed harmlessly and turned for another attack. Henderson raised his gun
but before he could fire, Mann was on his feet, rushing toward the wolf. Be-
fore the creature could gather itself for a second attack Mann was on its back,
snarling and growling like a wolf himself. Moonlight glinted from his hunting
knife as it raised up and plunged downward, again and again. The wolf cried
in agony, thrashed, trying to free itself of the human. But it could not. Again
and again Mann's hunting knife plunged home. Within seconds the wolf stop-
ped its cries, its thrashings.
Mann, shaken and fighting for breath, stepped away from the dead animal.
"Damn it all, I ain't ever seen anything like that," Henderson said, after a
He took Mann by the arm and led him to a log. "You sit for a minute, get
your wind back, alt right?" .
Mann nodded, sat, holding the knife limply in his right hand so that blood I
dripped from the point to splatter on the leaves.
Henderson went back and examined the wolf. "That's sure a big one," he
said. "And it went right for your throat, just like it knew who you were and
had a hatred of you. This what scared you?"
Mann was still too shaken to talk.
Henderson got to his feet, puffing with the effort. "Son of a gun, 1 never
seen a night like this one. Out hunting a thing nobody understands, a thing
1 don't rightly believe in anyway. And 1 see u man kill a wolf, just like that,
with a knife. Just like old Tarxan tearing into one of them jungle lions. What
'That the one we're hunting?"
"Likely. Of course it hasn't turned back into a man. Do werewolves turn
back into a man when they're killed or do they wait for sun-up? Course, I
don't believe in werewolves. These full moon killings don't prove it was a
werewolf, that's a lot of poppycock, anyway you look at it. I guess the moon
drives wolves crazy, is all. They howl at the moon, sure enough. You don't
believe in werewolves, do you?"
"Yes, 1 do."
"You do? You got the look of an educated man about you. I figured you
wouldn't believe in nothing like that. Well, I'm going to take a look around.
There might be another wolf around. "
"Good idea," Mann said absently.
Henderson moved into the darkness. Mann seated on his log, looked up at
the sky: the moon, full and yellow as if it were about to burst with its ripe-
ness. A ripeness of evil. What was it doing to him? Turning him against his
own. . . Turning him into a killer. . . But soon the sun would be up and it
would be over for a while.
He sat on the log waiting. He knew the direction in which Henderson had
gone and it was just a matter time.
And sure enough then came the sound of Henderson calling him.
Mann moved into the trees toward Henderson. He found him standing over
the mutilated corpse.
"It's Fred Riley," Henderson said. Looks like that wolf, all right. But hie
clothcB are gone. Who could have taken his clothes?
HenderBon's back was to him. Mann didn't take the time to explain things.
He drove his knife through the cloth of Henderson's jacket, through his shirt,
into his back in the region between the shoulder blades. Henderson cried out.
Mann jerked the knife out, plunged it in again. Henderson fell dead.
There was no time now, no time to rend the body. Not even time to pull
the knife out. Soon the sun would be up. Soon- ; .
Mann moved away from the two bodies. Through the trees he thought he
could detect the faint lightening of the night sky in the east. He slopped.
There was no time. '
He dropped the clothes on the ground at his feet and stood naked as the
sun rose. He felt the change that gripped him, the horrible agony of meta-
The change. . . .
He dropped to his knees, unable to stand erect. His hands fell upon the
damp leaves. He could feel his body begin to melt and flow into the other
shape, nil shape. He felt fur growing on his back and sides; his face chang-
ing, the nose and chin elongating into muEile.
The sun was rising. , ,
As daylight colored the sky in the east a wolf stood beside a discarded
pile of clothes. It turned, detecting the scent of its enemy, man. It's hack-
les seemed to rise and it gave a low, meaningful growl.
Then loped away.
WITOHOHATT A BOBOEBY
Senr! all letters intended for publication to The Reader's Eyrie, COVEN 13,
P. O. Box 1331, Atlanta, Ueorpa, 30301.
When we took over COVEN 13 we sent letter- to all subscribers as well as
placing some notice" in fsn |iiibl;<;;!!soiis. fjO<;.'**, referred to in simif of the
letters below, is a neWfeH-tr et>v*rteg the science ficlitm and fantasy field,
edited bi-weekly by Chart;* Hfowt,, 21S78 Ai.Lhony Ave, Bronx. N.Y. 10457.
Subscriptions are (2.0(1 for 1 issues.
And while we're, being!*) free with plugs, we'd like to mention the AGACON
'70, a convention of science fiction and fantasy fans, readers and writers to he
held in Atlanta at the Howell House Hotel, August 14-16, 1970. Well be
there, anxious to discuss fantasy, COVEN 13 anrl just about any other subject
thai comes up, with any reader, fan or writer who'll listen to us. Guest of
hwknr at the eiiiivt-ntifssi will bf tiif; scdoiiblisWs' Ssm Mo-ykuwitK. aitlhojuirftt
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Now, on to the letters:
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THE MOMENTARY GHOST How do you rate
MISTRESS OF DEATH- - - — EDITORIAL—
TOWER OF BLOOD—
THE HATE—-- - -
PORTRAIT OF TOMORROW-
THE RAT AND THE SNAKE— GH0ST TOUR.
WIND MAGIC „ POETRY— — —
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As a subscribe
to COVEN 13, let
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::<>."■■ lo U.obi- Mouftlii<hi"bt J?
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and "The Little P
>y Robert E, How
ard. If 1 mention m
.re it would
be like listing aimc
ry. 1 have enjo
ed the articles in Ml, Bonk and
Tirol. Not only dc
t or support ih
■■ theories presentee.
in the maafl-
sine's fiction, but
t a history io which we are not
One thing I've e
ut CO VBNI3
s that the most ama
those which can
t occur, as one wo
during the blncke
f nkdrt. They
appen brightest da
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wner«hip did r
ot please, and 1 tfe
forward to whr-' lie II
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What this world rie
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* "unlv all fan
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THE SUPERNATURAL! Fan
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.selves, lutally differcn
r and the sup
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STARDRIFT, AND OTHER FANTASTIC FLOTSAM— a collection
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A limited edition of this great collection of fourteen of the
author's best short stories is now in preparation and will be ready
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pany's first cloth-bound book since I9S51
Emil Petaja has had one hundred and fifty stories published
since he sold his first story to Famsworth Wright for WEIRD
TALES. His stories have appeared in English anthologies and have
been translated into Spanish and Swedish.
Perhaps it is fate that his first book should be published by
Fantasy Publishing Company, since his very first story was printed
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nig notice in Locus, sure tin,,,: vour (
(H f m IH project is a
the first two issues, l,ul must iidil.il !
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„U don 'I plan locom-
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ssiies, til.- onlv t»o .lories 1 found w..r
Shad.m Trader." The 'Welsh' hard Wa.
len Minis strikes me a*
pireil. . . Also -loppv- -isn't the nossessiv
■ nf liiiini supposed
On pas-: ,2 of the second issue he
. use fan artists is gnnrl, there are quit
a lew around thai are
lau what CW/vV has heen usinj:. 1 d<
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u that you mention, you should t.y 1,
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W1TCH0HAFT & SORCEftY
COMING NEXT ISSUE
Next Issue's lead novelet is THE DRAGON'S DAUGH-
TER hy E. Hoffmann Frier., a story of Taoist magic in
ancient China. It's the story of a man wrongly disgraced
and impressed into the Imperial Army, from which he
deserts. It's the story of the two women in his life, one
of whom is the Dragon's Daughter, and of the gift of magic
she gives to him. It's a gift that can only he used once and
therefore must be used wisely. But chuosing the time to
use hut a single gift of magic can he difficult indeed. . .
Steve Fabian illustrates this one, adding to the fun.
Other veteran writers on hand will he August Derhth
with GHOST LAKE, the story of a lake with it's own
unique hrand of water pollution; and Emit Fetnja, whose
.lory TOMORROW'S MASK features a very unusual
But there'll be i
capable of keeping pace even with such superior writers
as Price, Derlcth and Petaja.
David English, for example, returns to SORCERY for
the second time with THE HUNGRY GHOSTS, the story
of a man who knows a way to kill by invading dreams —
hot who cannot guess the penalty exacted bv dreams. THE
HUNGRY GHOSTS is a powerful and moving story and
hliixihl eslnljJinli David English us one of the most important
writers of fantasy today. Don't miss it.
And don't miss S1LVERHEELS, hy Glen Cook— a.
story of heroic fantasy with a most unusual hero. This
is, we think. Cook's first story— but it won't be his last.
Pius other stories and the usual features Including
Ji-tininrm' WITCH WAYS, E. 11a ff mam Price'* JADE
PAGODA and THE DEPARTMENT OF POINTED
TALES, illustrated by Tim Kirk; and some surprises.
—Gerald W. Page
THE ADVENTURES OF GEORGE SUPERDRAGON
by Saliirha Grey
Once upon a time there was a dragon named George.
Being the ninety-third child of very religious parents,
he was stuck with the only saint's name they could think
of. Well, it was bad enough for a young dragon to have
grown up among the jeers of his companions but when the
Pope struck St. George from the list hecause he doubted
whether St. George really lived... The dragons knew
St. George was real, all right, but they never really
appruved of him, so George Dragon had to put up with
Now George had a talent he thought lie could use so
that other dragons would love and respect him. Under
certain conditions, George could miraculously increase his
powers so that he became nearly invincible. He decided
he would become George Superdragon and go around
doing good deeds among his own kind. In order to a-
ehieve the change, however, he had to read a new fantasy
story to create the proper atmosphere and then say
"Chrysophylax" very fast eight times.
After much ki-ji reliing, George found a magazine to suit
his needs. It contained a plentiful supply of new fantasy
fiction and was published bi-monthly. And that is why
you've never heard of George Superdragon before this.
You see, George took out a subscription. Came the
first issue and he selected a good deed and began to read.
Cn fortunately, he couldn't decide on just one story. The
artwork was so appealing and the stories so varied and
entertaining that he couldn't resist reading the whole
issue from cover to cover (including the editorial) and
hy the time he finished saying "Ch rysuphylax" eight times
very fast, he was three weeks late for his first grand
rescue. He was driven hack to his cave in dishonor, but
lie didn't mind. He lives there happilv, eagerly awaiting
the arrival of the next issue of WITCHCRAFT & SOR-
Get the Point? Witchcraft & SORCERY contains the
finest macabre fiction being published anywhere today.
Great weird tales, fantastic fantasy and the most exciting
heroic adventure fantasy. Beautifully illustrated by Fab-
ian. Kirk, Surge, Jennings, Frits, Jones and others. For
the best written, most exciting and most unique fiction
value around today, follow George's advice and subscribe
today. You can subscribe for six full Issues of the most
modern fantasy magazine in the world for only $3.0(1.
Twelve issues for $6.00! Use the handy order form on the
oppoefti P n S^i or — if you don t want to mutilate the mag-
azine, send us your name and address oo a plain piece of
paper, along with your check or money order. But hurry
so you won't miss the next great issue 1
BE AH PBKER
Robfft E. Howard
Mote episodes ahout the fabu-
lous gent from Bear Creek. Breck-
inrid«e Elkins, are gathered here
for the First lime in hook form,
Like its predecessor, A CENT
FROM BEAR CHEEK, the new
Breckinridge Elkins hook is no
ordinary western, When von fio-
il you may agree with a grow-
; number of readers that Brecli-
id'ge is no less a hero than Con-
Mi the Barbarian or Solomon Kane
or any of the other heroic charac-
ters from the talented pen of
Rohe.rt E. Howard
THE LEGION OE TIME
», j n . -k mtttomton DARKER THAN YOU
A tlir.u,,,, ,, n .,, 1 ,r 1 wvtm y« u rau lom Urn- ,U J v ' h W:l ' ' ,,1S '"
HI) be HrpUlnad j
Two beautiful Fantasy Press first
editions — "The Legion of Time"
published 1952 in the original green
cloth binding, "Darker Than You
Think" published 1948 in handsome
gray variant binding.
a theory nctt L0 UUmputDgK I
A HISTORY AND ANTHOLOGY OF
"THE SCIENTIFIC ROMANCE" IN THE
MUNSEY MAGAZINES, 1912-1950
Edited by Sam Moskowit z
NEW PAPERBACK SERIES:
THE PATHLESS IRAILbv Arthur O, Friel 60$
I HF MOON OF SKULLS by Robert E. Howard 60?
FHE TREASURE OF ATLANTIS by J. Allan Dunn 75?
THE HAND OF KANE by Robert E. Howard 75?
V\ H VI ARE '-TIME-LOST' BOOKS?
Hie basic premise of "Time-Lost" books is swashbuck-
Die action, The netting is almost
range to civilization, li may be
:il. flavored by the fertile imag-
sin THE PATHLESS TRAIL.
id sorcery exploits of Solomon
is in Robert E. Howard's THE
ling high adventure and he
i realm that
the fearsome jungle of Bra
million nl Arthur 0. Friel j
Or ii may be the sword a
K«ne in AUaniean Negnri
MOON OF SKULLS.
Here is a unique and huge book that is,
perhaps, the greatest science -fantasy his-
tory 'anthology ever!
A 70,00(1 word history tit the Scientific
Romance — a nostalgia trip into the days of
the old pulps. If you have owned, or seen, or
heard of any of these magazines, this be-
comes so much more than history. Look at
the chapter titles and sec what is in store.
Look at Ihe list of nine stories that are
alsu a partof this book; glorious fiction it is.
Bold, marveluusly adventurous, imaginative,
fascinating, relaxing -- wr when the
world was so much larger Aid uncomplica-
ted. Great reading today, and yet material
that couldn't be written today.
The compiler of this unbelievable anthol-
ogy/history has inscribed copies of this title
lor us to supply to our customer*. We be-
lieve ii is destined to .become a desirable
i cut -
■eading thrill lor
The Pathless Trail - Friel
The Moon of Skulls - Howard
The Treasure of Atlantis - Dunn
The Hand of Kane - Howard
The Pride of Bear Creek - Howard
The Legion of Time - Williamson
Darker Than You Think - Williamson
Under the Moons of Mars - Moskowit z
All books postpaid. Minimum order $2.00
Make check or money order payable to:
DONALD M. GRANT
West Kingston, Rhode Island 02892